


There is a Reason

by TheSeabear



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, T'hy'la
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 57,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSeabear/pseuds/TheSeabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love stories always have that ‘big bang’ moment where the people involved can pinpoint THAT instant when they fell ass over teakettle in love. Spock and Kirk didn’t have that. For them, it evolved. It grew. It built like a wave until neither of them could breathe without the other. </p><p>Takes place in the year before STID, during STID, and after STID.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Slow Beginning

_What is it like? Not to feel anger? Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?_

The words had tasted bitter. Even as he yelled them at Spock, hoping desperately for a reaction, they resounded agonizingly within himself. And now, on a bright day just hours after being made Captain of the starship Enterprise, he looked down at the reason. 

Winona M. Kirk  
Loving Wife and Mother  
First Officer, USS Farragut  
Killed on Active Service

“Hey, Mom,” he said. There wasn’t much he could say at this point. He’d known. He’d known the second they dropped out of warp that his mother was gone. 

“I’ll go the way your father went, Jimmy,” she’d always said. “I’ll die in space so we’ll always be together. Don’t ever trap me in the ground.”

She’d gotten her wish. No bodies had been recovered after the black hole swallowed everything in close proximity to the planet that had once been Vulcan. He hoped wherever they were, if there was an afterlife, Winona and George Kirk were happy. His parents had died with their boots on. Whenever the universe decided it was his turn, he wanted to go the same way. 

He stared at the crystal marker. There were hundreds of them. The little park that surrounded the Command buildings of Starfleet Academy had been converted into a cemetery. A dark red obelisk, made from stone cut from a Vulcan quarry several months ago for an entirely different purpose, stood resolutely on a little hill. A column of Golic script had been engraved into its side. 

Spring had really come out in full force in the northern hemisphere. Several large groups of people meandered the sunlit graveyard. A few girls huddled around each other, crying by a tree. His heart went out to them. If he walked by and actually read the names on the markers, he knew he would recognize almost all of them. Three rows over, Gaila, the cheerful Orion girl he’d messed around with a few times, was honored next to two of her classmates. 

He stared out over the sloping park. His life up to this point had had no purpose. Not really. All of these lives, all of the lives lost on Vulcan – they drove him into a brooding mood that didn’t sit well in his mind. It struck him that was a part of something now and he couldn’t just quit, even if he admitted to himself that he was a little bit afraid. 

“Kirk?”

He turned. Uhura, dressed in a breezy yellow sundress, shielded her eyes to look up at him. 

“Hey, Uhura.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned. Unlike her, he hadn’t changed from his red cadet uniform. Just to her left, dressed in his official blacks, stood Commander Spock. His dark eyes observed Kirk in a way he couldn’t really name. Since the destruction of the Narada, he’d hoped Spock’s attitude towards him had changed. But given the stiffness of the Vulcan’s shoulders, he didn’t really know for sure. If he still wanted to strangle Kirk for the things that he’d said, he couldn’t say that he blamed him. He looked at Uhura again, feeling an odd catch begin in his throat. “I’m so sorry about Gaila.”

She nodded, looking somberly up the hill to where their friend’s name gleamed on a shining glass headstone. “Thank you. I know you were close, too. I came up to pay my respects, actually.”

“Same.”

She moved closer and looked at the marker just beyond him. It took her a second to read the plate. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh god,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” 

He looked back at his mom’s stone. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Spock glanced over her shoulder. A look of comprehension passed over his features. It was a slight change, just enough to mark a look of sympathy – or perhaps empathy. “Tushah nash-veh k’du.”

Kirk frowned a little. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I grieve with thee,” he translated. 

“Oh.” Kirk cleared his throat. It was a little formal, but maybe that’s how Vulcans liked to treat emotions. “Thanks.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. There was an awkward silent pause. 

“Give my best to Gaila,” he said finally, looking at Uhura. She gave a small smile. “Commander.”

“Captain.” 

They parted ways. Dewy grass clung to his dress shoes as he climbed down the hill. 

 

…

_What is it like? Not to feel anger? Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?_

As a child, Spock had dealt with bullies. They had pointed out his human weaknesses, his flaws. They saw his mother as the center of all fault in his genetic and environmental construction. Kirk – James Tiberius Kirk – demonstrated the opposite; he was the human who hated his Vulcan half. 

It was remarkable the similarity in reaction Kirk had been able to provoke in those few moments to those Spock’s childhood enemies had conjured, despite the fact that his acquaintance with Kirk had been a bare day and he had grown up with the young Vulcans who tormented his early years. 

And yet, seeing Kirk stand at the grave of his own mother – a grave that lacked a body – he now second-guessed the animosity he felt towards the human. 

Those words, according to his older counterpart, were spoken in an attempt to save Earth, not to render any real harm to Spock personally. In reality, he began to understand as he walked with Nyota up the hill, those words were likely a manifestation of the human’s own suffering. Instead of bitterness, instead of a profound, biting anger, Spock felt a glimmer of rapport. 

“Spock? You okay?” Nyota’s voice pulled him from his silent reflections. 

“Indeed.” He thought for a moment. “What do you know about Captain Kirk?”

“Not much,” she said. They came to the apex of the hill, where the land flattened and in the center of the markers, a small fountain trickled water over the date of the Narada’s arrival at Vulcan and the subsequent events. “Actually, I’m pretty sure everything I do know about him is made up of my own stereotypical suppositions. I’ve been pretty judgmental where he’s concerned.”

He looked at her. Nyota was a forceful person. She was confident and self-assured. Like him, she had made her own way. But he had never known her to be judgmental by nature. 

She slowed to a stop and he dismissed his observations, turning his attention instead to the marker in front of them. He had only met Gaila once. 

He was aware of her affiliation with Kirk; it had been her testimony – in exchange for a clean academic record – that had implicated the cadet… captain. She had been a remarkably stable Orion female despite the constant tormenting she received from other cadets. Nyota had explained the difficulties her roommate had faced; like Spock, her species made her a target to narrow-minded and mean-spirited individuals. 

Perhaps, he considered as he watched Nyota kneel in the grass, staining her dress, perhaps recent events could shed light on the human expression ‘life is short.’ Perhaps Captain Kirk was not all that he initially appeared to be – perhaps there was forgiveness to be found… for both of them, he realized, thinking back on his actions. 

Tonight, he would meditate. Until then, he stood as a silent sentinel over Nyota, who cried quietly over her friend.


	2. That Which Brings Us Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Spock/Uhura breakup

Spock was frowning. He knew he was. But at this moment, he could not find the control to summon back a placid facial expression. Nor, for some reason, could he meet Nyota’s eyes. 

“Spock,” she implored. “I just—”

“Nyota, please,” he said softly. “A moment.”

She sat silently. Thoughts and memories bombarded him. With forcibly cool internal eyes, he analyzed and reassessed all of them. Vulcan teachings did not fail him; emotions were clouds he simply cleared away and… that, he realized, was the problem. 

He closed his eyes and breathed. “You… do not wish to continue this relationship because I am half-Vulcan.”

“Spock,” she begged, “no, of course—”

“Nyota,” he stopped her. “I was raised in the Vulcan tradition. While my biology may make little difference to you, my heritage dictates the control of sentiments you have just stated are of vital importance to you.”

She silently regrouped her thoughts. “Okay. Yes, it’s a problem. I thought… I could handle it. I loved that you were mature and rational. Most human men our age are completely unreasonable. When we met, you were so cool-headed and even-tempered, I just thought… maybe that you were perfect for me. But I can’t keep putting my needs as second best. I’m so sorry, Spock.”

“Do not apologize,” he told her softly, thoughts and feelings flickering through his mind at a pace he was not now equipped to handle. “I am pleased that you are pursuing your own needs, Nyota; I desire your happiness.” 

“Even if it hurts you?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he replied truthfully. “I care very much for you. I would be gratified… if we could continue the friendship that preceded our romantic affiliation.”

“Oh, Spock,” she said, sounding as heartbroken as he felt. Interesting that the expression his mother had once attempted to explain to him was exactly as painful as it sounded. “Yes. We’re still friends.” 

“Thank you.” He finally looked to meet her concerned gaze. “But… I believe I require time—”

She nodded. “Yes. Of course. I’ll just… I’ll give you some space. I’m glad we’re still friends, Spock. Thank you.”

“Indeed.”

She left. He remained motionless, seated on the edge of his bed, for quite some time. 

…

Despite his assurances to Nyota that everything between them would be fine, he discovered an inability to displace the discomfort of having been rejected for his Vulcan qualities. Fine was, after all, a term of variable definitions. 

Twice in the past week, he had noted with rising irritation the general incompetence of the ensign managing the station adjacent to his on the bridge. A mistake in the transporter room nearly cost an engineer and two science officers their lives. Dr. McCoy had been insulting and dismissive in his oral report of the incident. The captain’s cavalier attitude on Alpha Shift was the proverbial last straw. 

“Captain,” he addressed the blonde currently lounging in the captain’s chair and chatting with Lieutenant Sulu. They had just agreed on wagers over the next mission ending in catastrophe. “I do not believe establishing a betting pool on board a starship representing Starfleet and the Federation is appropriate behavior for any officer, let alone the captain. Is your job not to be a role model for those under your command?”

Kirk stared at him for a full second. For a moment, he looked as if he were about to make a joke. The happy smile faded from his mouth. “Yeah… no, you’re right, Commander. Sorry everyone.”

Sulu turned back to his station, looking attentive and suddenly busy. The rest of the shift proceeded with an adequate atmosphere of focus and quiet. When Beta Shift replacements arrived, he stood and went straight to the lift. 

Kirk, smiling again, darted to get in before the doors slid closed. “Hey.”

“Captain.” Spock focused on the turbolift wall in front of him. 

“Hey,” the captain said again, “You okay? You’re being pretty quiet.”

“I see no reason for excessive and unproductive conversation,” Spock informed him coolly. 

“Right. This isn’t about the bet Sulu and I made, is it? Because that was seriously just a joke.”

“I have come to learn unbecoming conduct is a natural progression in your insistence to behave as a child; the fact that this is unacceptable to me should be of no surprise to you, Captain,” Spock said, feeling some degree of his frustration morph into satisfaction at Kirk’s silence. 

“Well then,” Kirk said stiffly. The door slid open; it took far too long. “By your leave, Commander?”

Spock strode out into the hallway, pleased when Kirk did not follow. He entered the lab and set about preparing for a new round of tests on a species of Glavarian foliage. 

…

Kirk sat down heavily next to Uhura in the Mess, sliding his tray onto the table. “Question for you.”

She put down the PADD she’d been reading and gave him her attention. 

“What’s up with your boyfriend? He nearly took my head off in the lift today.” Kirk took a bite of his sandwich, surprised and pleased when he tasted what actually seemed to be barbeque rather than the soap the replicator had fed him the day before. 

“We broke up,” she admitted. He paused in his chewing. After a second, he swallowed. 

“God, I’m sorry,” he said. “Mutual, or…”

Uhura shook her head before he could even finish the statement. “I broke things off.”

He was quiet for a minute. Was it inappropriate to ask, or…? But he didn’t have to complete that thought. She kept talking, wrapping her arms around her self and looking at the wall. 

“I don’t know, I guess I just thought he would be okay with it,” she told him. He realized he’d just been caught in what females called ‘venting’ and cursed his luck. “He’s always so reserved, I thought he didn’t really feel anything for me. But now…”

“Now he’s being a giant sonofabitch,” Kirk finished. “Yeah.”

She gave him a hard look. “It’s not his fault.”

Kirk wanted to push the issue, but he pressed his lips together. 

“Okay,” he said awkwardly, realizing he’d been quiet for too long. “I’m sorry you two are going through that.”

She seemed to be okay with that and nodded sadly. “We’ll get over it. I’m just sorry I’m causing him pain. It makes me kind of sick, actually.”

“It’ll be alright,” he reassured. Realizing that his communications officer probably wanted some time to herself, he stood and grabbed his tray. “See you around.”

She gave him a brief smile and went back to her PADD, but didn’t read. Her eyes were fixed on the screen in a way that said she was miles away in her own head. 

Kirk ditched his tray and ate his sandwich on the way to his quarters. He polished it off by the time he reached the senior officers’ hall. 

It was mid-afternoon. Spock usually went to the labs after his shift. Even if he had gone to his quarters, Kirk didn’t feel like invading the Vulcan’s privacy. 

It was irrational to be upset over the comment that Spock had made, right? Because, seriously, the guy was angry. He couldn’t have meant it… Kirk dropped into the chair at his desk and stared at his computer terminal. But _unbecoming conduct_? _Behave as a child_? Where had that come from?

People spewed out all sorts of stuff when they were mad, but Spock? He’d never known the Vulcan to say something he didn’t believe with absolute conviction. The thought hurt. 

Kirk flicked a stylus lying next to his hand. It went skittering across the desk. He hated it when he second-guessed himself. It was uncomfortable and unnecessary. 

But Spock was pissed. Maybe it was about Uhura, but maybe the Vulcan was seriously ticked off at him. What had he done? Or maybe the better question was, how much of his behavior had Spock forced himself to be tolerant of? 

He sat there, head propped up on his fist, staring at the wall, for ten minutes. 

No. Nope. He shoved up from the chair and paced. 

He tolerated a lot of shit. The constant flirtation from his yeoman, Bones’s harping and nagging about safety and health, the way Uhura hovered whenever her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – went planetside for a mission… and Spock! He tolerated more from Spock than anyone else. 

So, what the fuck? His First Officer was pissed. What could he do about it? 

…

When Spock returned from the lab, feeling slightly better after hours of peace and concentration, the last thing he wanted was to be ambushed by his captain. 

“Spock,” Kirk greeted, walking towards him from down the hall. 

Spock exhaled. “Captain.”

“Hey, I hope I’m not interrupting—”

“You are, in fact, interrupting. Good evening.” He pressed a button to close his room off to the captain, but Kirk intercepted, moving his entire body into the path of the door. 

“Yeah, you know what,” Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe, “I don’t think so.”

“Pardon me?” A dangerous furrow pulled between his brows. 

“I said, I don’t think so. You don’t like me? Fine. You got dumped? Get over it. Don’t play your passive aggressive shit with me. You don’t get a free pass to sharpen your tongue on the rest of us because you’re feeling a little extra pissy.”

“I—” he began angrily, but Kirk beat him to it again. Spock felt the irritation that had been building over the past week surge to the surface, raging to be released.

“Nope.” Kirk turned and started walking away. Despite Spock’s adamant demand for solitude, the action angered him. How dare he just walk away?

He stalked out and after his captain, feeling the muscles all over his body tense for confrontation. Instead of heading for the lift at the end of the hall, Kirk turned and started for the small gym connected to the senior officers’ lounge. 

“Captain!” he snapped. 

“C’mon,” Kirk called, entering the gym. Spock stopped. “That was an order, Commander.”

He strode into the room. Kirk had removed his two shirts and was in the process of taking off his boots. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

Kirk shook his head and waved a hand at him. “Shoes off, Commander.”

“Why?” he bit out. His teeth were beginning to ache from the way he clenched them together. 

“Because you’re in a mood,” his captain replied. “And I’m sick of it. So, you’re going to work it out and I’m going to have my patient First Officer back. Shoes. Off.”

Spock realized Kirk was preparing for a bout with him. Were he in a rational frame of mind, he would have argued that fighting a human would have no purpose, as Vulcan strength rendered any physical combat unfair. But he realized that sparring with Kirk was exactly what he wanted to do. 

Efficiently, he stripped off his shoes and socks, setting them against the wall. When he turned to face Kirk, he saw the human staring at him, naked to the waist and stretching his arms. 

“Alright,” the captain said at last. “You’re going to pound the ever-loving shit out of me. Let’s have it.”

Spock gave him what he asked for. If it made him un-Vulcan for finding emotional release in physical exertion, then at least he was more human than Nyota seemed to believe. The thought gave him no comfort. 

His muscles stretched and buzzed pleasantly at the movement. All of the impatience and annoyance trickled away, as if the emotions had somehow found an outlet in his blows. The smarting sting of his split with Nyota began to diminish as well. As the irritation began to fade after a few intense minutes, he saw what the blind frustration had clouded before. 

His captain was keeping up. Kirk was quick. He lacked the power and endurance of Vulcan physiology, but he made up for it in completely illogical attacks. Illogical… but effective. He found it difficult to anticipate his captain’s movements. 

Spock tempered back the strength of his strikes and observed. The distraction captured his attention, effectively jerking him away from the rest of the week’s worth of hurt. Kirk sported a number of darkening red marks that would undoubtedly be black in a few hours without medical attention. But he was not alone in his injuries; a few wild shots had landed and he felt the twinging pain that signaled impending bruises. 

He moved to swing for Kirk’s shoulder, but the captain dropped to the floor, out of the way of his punch. He stepped back to balance himself. A leg kicked out and caught him behind his shins. Spock hit the floor with uncoordinated surprise. 

Instead of taking advantage of his position, Kirk gasped out a huge breath, panting, and flopped over onto his back next to Spock. 

“You okay?” he asked. Spock blinked. 

“I am well.”

“There he is.” He could hear the smile in his captain’s voice. “I thought I might have lost my science officer for a while. Welcome back, Commander.”

Spock did not make a reply. They slumped there on the floor of the gym for a while. Strangely, Spock felt no compunction to stand as long as Kirk sprawled next to him. Normally, he would feel completely ridiculous. 

“Hey, Spock,” Kirk said quietly. 

“Yes?”

“Can we promise each other something?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Promise you’ll tell me when something’s bothering you. Be honest with me – and don’t say Vulcans don’t lie, because I’m pretty sure all of you have a Ph.D. in dodging the truth… I promise I’ll do the same.”

Spock thought silently for a moment. His captain’s request was reasonable. “I shall try.”

“Thanks.”

Kirk rolled onto his front and pushed up on his elbows to look at him. “Do you like chess?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.


	3. An Overture to Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the long friendship of James T. Kirk and Spock.

Another stressful mission chased their heels as they descended from the transportation pad. There was an eighty-three point six percent likelihood that Kirk had a concussion. Spock had fractured a rib. 

They found their way to Med Bay hanging onto their last scrap of energy. At least Spock managed some modicum of grace as he found an empty biobed and sat. Even though Vulcans required far less sleep and, as a whole, were able to endure much more than the average human, Spock admitted that he was tired. He did not know how his captain had managed to remain conscious. Kirk, nursing a possible cerebral injury, had been awake and mobile as long as Spock had. 

However, it seemed that was no longer true; Kirk, in the few seconds since he had dropped appreciatively onto the bed, had fallen asleep. Dr. McCoy ran a tricorder over him and called for a hypospray of DHE 45. 

Spock’s eyes drifted back around and he paid mild attention to the nurse scanning his body. 

“You have a fractured rib, Commander,” the nurse informed him.

“I am aware of the fact,” he replied. The procedure required to mend his rib did not necessitate the attention of the Chief Medical Officer. 

An hour later and less sore, he entered his quarters and promptly prepared for bed. Before he left the Med Bay, McCoy had woken Kirk and put him under medical observation for the next three hours. 

He folded the covers back and climbed underneath, feeling the arms of sleep dragging him down before his head hit the pillow. 

…

The following day, both Kirk and Spock reported to the bridge for duty, much revived after several hours of sleep. Too tired to wander back to his quarters, Kirk had opted to bed down in the Med Bay the previous night. 

Spock sat at his station writing a mission report. He looked up when Sulu announced they were approaching an asteroid field. Kirk calmly directed a course around the obstructed area and returned his attention to the PADD balanced against his leg. 

“Hey, Spock,” Kirk said, not looking up from the PADD. “Chess tonight?”

“Affirmative.” 

“’kay.”

Spock returned to his report. For the past three weeks, he and the captain had participated in weekly chess matches, alternating between each other’s quarters. During their first game, Kirk had admitted an interest in Vulcan tea, which Spock then provided for both himself and the human. It occurred to Spock later that evening that it had been incredibly fortunate that Kirk had not been allergic, as neither of them thought to contact Dr. McCoy and check against the captain’s extensive list of allergies. 

It became a routine. One of them would serve tea and they played into the night. Spock acknowledged to himself that the experience was relaxing. Conversation with his captain came surprisingly easily. 

The shift ended without any red alerts or sudden calamities. It seemed to Spock that more often than not, the Enterprise experienced some form of disaster. Even more disconcerting, these disasters positively correlated with the incidence of Captain Kirk’s ability to find danger, for which he appeared to have a somewhat magnetic personality. 

That evening, when Kirk appeared at his door at exactly 2100, it was of no surprise to Spock that the first words that came out of his captain’s mouth were “God, I’m so tired, Spock. We seriously need a break.”

“I will point out that we are only two point three months out of spacedock,” he replied, setting a mug of tea in front of Kirk, who wrapped his hands around it gratefully. 

“Seems like so much longer,” he said, then, “But at the same time it feels like we just left Earth last week.”

Spock paused. He took his seat, facing the human. “Those statements are mutually exclusive, Captain.”

Kirk reached out and picked up a pawn from the board, which Spock had set a few minutes prior. He moved it forward two spaces. 

They played in a comfortable silence for a while. Yet again, Spock had the upper hand. His knowledge of the game seemed to surpass Kirk’s amateur interest; apparently, there had been very few people in Riverside willing to play except for his mother’s father, after whom he was named. Jim Sr. had been in the early stages of dementia when he had taught Kirk how to play. 

Given his limited experience, the captain played surprisingly well. After Jim Sr.’s death, he had not played a single game until his first match with Spock. For some reason, he felt oddly privileged that his captain chose to continue his practice of the game with him. 

After thirty minutes and forty-two seconds, Spock declared check, followed swiftly by checkmate. 

“Damn.” Kirk looked thoughtfully at the board for a moment, then set his tea aside with a smile. “Alright. I’m really gonna try this time.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You have not been trying thus far?”

Perhaps this was an attempt to save face. Kirk shook his head. His lips were set in a sharp grin that set Spock vaguely on edge. 

They reset the board. Spock took white this time. After ten minutes, he came to the conclusion that Kirk was making random plays. There was no pattern, no logic, no real reason behind any of his current positions. 

He took one of Kirk’s castles and lost a knight. Again, his captain moved in a counter-intuitive direction. It did not seem that the human had any plan. 

He assessed the board. Three minutes ago, he could have made check in eight moves. Somehow – most likely without realizing it – Kirk had thwarted him. He kept a cool face and changed strategies, planning on check in ten moves. 

Another three minutes later, he stared at the three-dimensional board and the black bishop positioned in checkmate over his queen. He suddenly appreciated McCoy’s term ‘gobsmacked.’ 

Kirk took one look at his face and started laughing. Spock ignored him and studied the tiered apparatus intently. 

“Your methods were highly illogical,” he concluded at last. Kirk seemed to have run out of energy to laugh and had tucked happily into his tea, still smiling over the rim. “Indeed, I cannot detect any single method at all. What was your strategy?”

“Nope. Not telling.”

Spock gave him a look. 

“Go send your eyebrows of death on another mission, Commander – I’m not saying anything. That’s one win after seven losses,” Kirk informed him. 

“Eight,” Spock corrected automatically. “Eight losses.”

“No need to rub it in.” Kirk looked entirely pleased with himself as he finished his tea. 

“Would you care for a rematch?” Spock offered, already in the process of resetting the pieces. 

“You bet your ass.”

It was 0120 when Kirk finally left for his own quarters, exhausted, but satisfied. He had won twice more in the span of three hours. For the first time in his life, Spock realized he had completely lost track of time. He had been so focused on chess with his captain, the minutes had trickled by without his awareness. 

Captain James T. Kirk was intelligent; perhaps, in different ways, he was as gifted as Spock. While not logical, his backwards way of attacking problems carried the notes of true genius. This realization came on the tail-end of a second, larger understanding. 

Tonight, Spock had experienced the concept of fun. He stood to put the board away and allowed a small, satisfactory smile to come over his lips.


	4. Soul Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock does something that makes Kirk think about his own behavior. 
> 
> A/N: I wasn't so sure about this chapter, but it fit well into the overall plot… let me know what you guys think.

Holtz 5 carried a scent of rancid garbage and musky pheromones. Spock surveyed the writhing dance floor of the club and attempted to block as much of the throbbing bass as he could. Vulcan hearing made the sounds register painfully loud.

“Eltran’s claim to fame is illegal bio-chemical weapon trade,” Kirk had summarized in their pre-mission briefing. The document that charged Fen Eltran with crimes against the Federation contained 142 pages of information. But Kirk’s paraphrase had been accurate. “He frequents Club Tzo to hunt for clients; our informant will meet us there at 0330. Spock, I want you and Mr. Chekov with me. We’ll be undercover; no phasers, no uniforms.”

“How will we apprehend zee criminal if we do not have phasers?” the Russian ensign had asked. 

“We’ll think of something,” Kirk had replied. Spock had very much disagreed with the lack of a solid plan to guide them, but the briefing had concluded without protest. Now, on the upper level of Club Tzo, Spock and Chekov searched for Fen Eltran among the flashing lights and wild crowds. 

“I’m meeting with the informant,” Kirk had told them before they had entered the establishment. “You two keep an eye out.”

Kirk had long since vanished into the mass of people. With the image from the briefing report and a full description in his mind, Spock scanned the faces of the individuals he could see clearly, looking for the criminal in question. 

“Commander,” Chekov said, appearing at his shoulder. He looked in the direction of the ensign’s discreet gesture. 

Eltran leaned against the bar, illuminated in the darkness by the strobe light. Spock considered his options. 

“Go to the alley directly behind the establishment,” he instructed Chekov, making up his mind on a plan of action. “I will lure him through the rear door.”

“Aye, Commander.” The curly-haired young man – looking odd in black leather-synth – ducked out behind a group and disappeared into the crowd. Spock gathered himself and wove through the throngs towards his target. 

…

The situation bore all of the hallmarks of a slippery slope. Any number of things could go horribly wrong, but Kirk needed the informant’s account and Eltran had to stand trial. 

Of everyone on the team, Chekov had the least field experience. But the kid had grown up in Mother Russia, where young teens frequented raves and clubs as a natural pastime. He would be comfortable enough in the setting to keep a clear head. Spock, overqualified for his position on the Enterprise, looked like a fish out of water in a t-shirt and denim.

Kirk didn’t hesitate to trust him with the most important facet of their mission. Capturing Eltran was the priority. If anyone could do it, he knew Spock could. The Vulcan lived and breathed duty and responsibility. 

Which left Kirk to find the informant. He didn’t have a name or a face. The instructions they’d received via an encrypted Starfleet channel told him to sit in the far back corner of the club with one foot propped up against the table and wait. Code word: greyhound. 

The strobe lights were beginning to get old. They’d gone out of fashion decades ago. He leaned back against the booth and tried to block out the truly wretched music. Maybe if he were on his way to being drunk, it wouldn’t have been so bad. A lot of things got better with alcohol. 

Like a godsend, a shot glass of something amber-colored appeared on the table in front of him. He looked up. 

“Look a mite bit strange, friend, sitting there doing nothing.”

The man was tall. Definitely human. In the dark, he couldn’t tell the exact color of the man’s skin, but his features spoke of oriental lineage. 

“Can’t stay long; I need to get home and let the greyhound out or my wife will kill me,” Kirk replied, trying not to feel weird about the extremely cloak-and-dagger approach of the entire operation. 

Thankfully, the stranger took his response in stride and sat across from him. “I saw you come in,” he said thoughtfully. “You sure your two men can take care of our little friend?”

“I have no doubt.” He leaned forward and took the shot glass. “Whatever you’ve got, let’s hear it.”

The informant reached inside his jacket. For a tense second, Kirk remembered his phaser was back on the Enterprise. But instead of a weapon, the stranger pulled out few folded pieces of paper. 

“Hard copy only,” the man cautioned, tossing them across the table. “No digital trace, no duplicates.”

Kirk unfolded the papers and flattened the first page. On the top were two images; blurry figures holding disruptor pistols stood in front of a row of people who appeared to be cuffed to the wall. 

The second page was clearer. Four women with black hair stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space of a prison cell. The next image showed a child in a cage. Her head was turned, displaying pointy ears he would recognize anywhere. 

“Vulcans,” he said. 

“And some Betazoids.” The stranger nodded. “Slave trafficking. Eltran’s got fingers in so many pies he doesn’t know what to do with them. He slipped up and these images got sent out.”

“Hell of a mistake,” Kirk mumbled, looking at the pictures again. 

“And now he’s paying for it. His clients are shunning him. It’s only a matter of time before his creditors come sniffing. That’s why your men aren’t allowed to fuck up tonight. Soon, Eltran’s going to realize how much trouble he’s in and he’s going to go underground. If that happens, we’ll never find him. His arms business is big enough that he could go anywhere. If these people,” he pointed at the images, “are going to have any hope of getting out alive, we need Eltran’s information.”

Kirk nodded, thinking hard. “Anything else?”

“Not right now. I’ll be in contact.”

The stranger left as abruptly as he’d arrived. He slipped into the crowd and Kirk didn’t bother looking for him after that. He focused back on the pictures in his hands.

The ball was in his court. First: find that sonofabitch, Eltran. 

He threw back the shot glass and swallowed against the seething burn of the alcohol down his throat, then shoved up from the table and waded into the sea of people. 

…

After twenty minutes of scouring the joint for Spock and Chekov, he finally pulled himself into a dark backroom and called the Enterprise.

“Mr. Chekov is in the alley behind the building, sir. It appears Mr. Spock is headed towards him from the bar.” Lieutenant Commander Ferrara’s voice came through his comm unit. At least in the closet-like space, he could almost understand what she was saying. The music seemed to have increased in volume, if that were even possible. 

“Understood,” he said and slid the unit back into the hidden pocket of his jacket. What the hell were his people doing?

He exited the closet and made his way to the door, barely avoiding being tripped over by a waitress carrying a laden tray of drinks. At last he reached the side exit and cold air slammed into him. 

The alley was lit only by a mounted wall light above the sewer access. It was enough to see Chekov – in his ridiculous leather-synth pants – waiting by the back door. Kirk opened his mouth to call out, but the door swung open at that moment. 

“I do not believe I am familiar with that term,” he heard Spock’s voice emerge from the thumping music of the club. A man stepped out – Eltran, Kirk realized after a split second – followed closely by the Vulcan. Eltran made to touch Spock as the door swung closed again, but the Vulcan sidestepped and Chekov landed a solid punch on the criminal’s jaw. 

Shocked speechless, both Eltran and Kirk stumbled for a second. Spock took the chance and pinched the man’s neck. He crumbled. 

Stunned, Kirk walked forward. “I think I need to pair you two up more often,” he said, feeling a little dazed. 

His First Officer looked up. “Captain,” he said, sliding his hands behind his back. “The criminal has been apprehended.”

“Yes, I see that, thank you, Spock.”

“Were you successful in finding the informant?”

“Yeah.” He looked at Chekov, who was shaking out his hand like it hurt. “Okay there, Mr. Chekov?”

“Yes, sir. Fine, sir.”

“Good. That was a hell of a punch.” He slapped the kid on the shoulder and pulled his communicator out. “Enterprise, four to beam up.”

Eltran was taken to the brig by armed security; unnecessary, since he was still out cold. Kirk ordered Chekov to the Med Bay to check out his hand, then invited Spock back to his quarters to catch up on what had happened. He also wanted to show his First Officer the pictures from the informant before he wrote his report. 

“How did you lure him out?” Kirk asked, grinning as he brought tea to the table and sat. So many things could have gone badly, but they’d done it; one mission they really needed to go well and things went absolutely smoothly. Spock didn’t seem inclined to stomp on his enthusiasm. 

“The report stated Eltran’s interest in sexual encounters with paid professionals,” Spock told him. “I simply implied that I had experience with such matters and drew his interest by offering an encounter in the alley. It was the most efficient way to separate our target from the crowd without giving away our intent to capture him.”

Kirk’s brain stopped turning at ‘sexual encounters.’ It took a second before he found his mouth actually worked again. “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. You told him you were a prostitute?”

“I implied.”

“Uh-huh, and he believed you?”

“I have observed seductions before,” Spock defended. “It was simply a matter of employing behaviors to which I have been witness in the past. While outside of my comfort zone, I have found the knowledge gained from this expedition… enlightening.”

“Spock, don’t take this the wrong way, but… you’re practically reclusive; how does someone as sheltered as you suddenly know how to lure a person into a dirty alley for a quick fuck?” 

Spock drank his tea. He didn’t seem insulted at all. “While I have not been in the company of individuals who make a career out of such experiences, I can recall three times in the past four months that you yourself have been successful in using such tactics on both genders at taverns and alehouses on various planets.” 

For a minute, Kirk didn’t really know what to say. Sure, he messed around. It was healthy and fun. But Spock had actually noticed?

For some reason, that thought didn’t seem as unimportant as it should have been. 

“You are unusually quiet,” his First Officer’s voice broke into his contemplation. “Have I said something to offend you?”

“Huh? No, no, not at all,” he backpedaled. “Just thinking.”

“Indeed.” Spock looked at him quizzically. “What have you learned from the informant?”

Kirk pulled the papers from his jacket, a look of intense dissatisfaction crossing his features. Spock took them and saw why. 

After a long moment, his First Officer asked, “Eltran is connected with these?”

Kirk nodded. “I’m going to ask Pike if we can take over the rescue mission.”

“As the Enterprise was instrumental in capturing the criminal associated with these acts, I should think we have preeminence in this matter,” Spock agreed. He stood. “I shall leave you to write your report.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes.” He saw the Vulcan out and turned to lean against the door when it closed. 

Like a black stain, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Spock had said. Hell, in the Academy, he used to brag with the best of them about the amount of sex he got. 

Now… he didn’t like that his promiscuity appeared so evident that Spock – uptight, repressed, innocent Spock – had been able to emulate him well enough to lure scumbag like Eltran into an alley. Was that the impression he’d left? Was that how his First Officer saw him?

It was embarrassing. Fuck that; it was appalling. This was the person he’d come to rely on as the other half of his command team. He trusted the Vulcan. No matter what happened, Spock would do the right thing. Most of the time, it felt like Spock trusted him in return. 

But now he felt like he’d rolled in garbage and everyone could see it. He was a starship captain, not some slut who could be led around by his dick. Fuck. How in the hell could he fix this?

He went back to his desk and keyed in his information for a report. The unfinished cup of tea Spock had left sat cooling on the table. Without a thought, he reached over and took it. 

It was cold, but Kirk didn’t really care. Thirty minutes later, the cup rested empty in his hand. He sent the finished report, with a personal request to allow the Enterprise to take over the investigation, to Admiral Pike.


	5. Creativity is a Quality Expected in Every Starfleet Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemingly insignificant circumstances in the slow-going process that is the relationship of Jim Kirk and Spock.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I know how important this is to Spock, but you’re just too close to the case—”

“Important to Spock? It’s important to all of us, Admiral. We’ve got the motivation to do this; I don’t understand why—”

“Rear Admiral Stuart has already taken on the investigation, Jim. It’s done; let this one go.”

“I will not let it go!” he argued. “Admiral—”

“Kirk—” Pike shouted, then dropped his head into his hand and massaged his forehead. “I’m sorry, son. You’re not going to win here. You have your orders.”

Kirk swallowed back the furious retort that danced on the edge of his tongue. Tension boiled around him. With compressed lips, he said, “Yes, sir.” 

And he signed off. 

With a deep, groaning sigh, he leaned back as far as the chair allowed him, covering his face with his hands. A long silence answered. 

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

His First Officer did not move from the corner of the conference room where he stood, but he said, “I have every confidence that you put forth your best effort.”

“Didn’t work, though.”

“No,” Spock agreed. 

“And it would be totally out of line to contact Admiral Stuart and ask him to throw us a bone.”

“Indeed.” 

“Did you even understand that expression?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Oddly enough, Spock’s preference for one-word answers grounded him. His First Officer had a way of making everything so simple, sometimes. He turned in the chair to look at him. Spock stared back. 

He grabbed his communicator. “Kirk to Bridge.”

“Uhura here, Captain.”

“Plot a course for Sigma 9.”

“Yes, sir.”

He dropped his hand to his side and let out another deep breath. “I need to read the briefing on our new orders,” he told Spock. 

“You are welcome to do so in my quarters, if you would prefer company,” the Vulcan offered. Kirk gave a smile. 

“Thanks, Spock. Sure. Why not.” 

They left together.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Kirk said as they entered Spock’s quarters.

“A dangerous enterprise, to be sure,” the Vulcan quipped. 

“Very funny. I’ve been thinking, I know what the science department does is important. It’s all a part of exploring and learning new things. But I don’t actually know what’s going on in labs.” He took his usual seat and accepted the extra PADD Spock handed to him. “Thanks.”

“You wish for me to illuminate the workings of the science department,” the Vulcan summarized. 

“Yeah.” He scrolled through the mission brief for Sigma 9 and looked up. “I mean, science isn’t really my thing, so I don’t usually understand it as well as, say, engineering. But this is my ship; I feel like I should at least have a clue about what’s going on.”

“Indeed,” Spock leaned back, watching him. “As captain, it is your duty to be appraised of all that transpires on the Enterprise. I will gladly assist in whatever way I can.”

“Thanks,” Kirk said. “Tonight? Our regular time?”

“If you wish to discuss the current experiments in the labs over chess, I believe you will find your divided attention a major disadvantage,” he cautioned. 

“You’re just scared you’ll lose again,” Kirk told him. 

“As the present score stands thirty-five to thirteen, I am experiencing no fear in relation to the impending match.” Spock swiped the surface of his own PADD with one long finger, flipping through the pages of a document. “If you are undergoing mental anxiety, however, I would remind you that our games are not designed for the sake of any real competition.”

“You would, except you’re as bad as I am.”

His First Officer did not argue. Neither of them mentioned that this would be the third of their ‘weekly’ game nights in the past four days. 

…

Sigma 9 orbited a dwarf star, three times the radius of Earth’s Sol. The Enterprise was charged with charting its solar system, which was fairly small, and collecting geological data from the surface. 

As per their orders, a transport would meet them to take possession of the prisoner. Kirk had even been told not to speak with Eltran. As an unauthorized person in the investigation, any interference on his part not associated with the direct capture of said person would be taken as a violation of due process of law. 

It kind of sucked to be the low man on the totem pole. Captain of the flagship of the Federation, for fuck’s sake, and he wasn’t allowed to even look at the prisoner in his own brig. The novelty of his position wasn’t wearing off yet, per se, but he was beginning to see the lines of bureaucratic structure and administration that had been hidden before in the haze of excitement surrounding the chair. 

Spock came to his quarters in his usual, punctual manner. “Have you had dinner yet?” Kirk asked him, going to the replicator to order a sandwich. 

“I have,” he replied, taking a seat at the small table in Kirk’s sitting area. Kirk brought his plate over and sat, too. 

“I eat, you talk,” he ordered, diving into his dinner. Maybe it was Scotty’s obsession wearing off on him, or maybe he was just seriously hungry, but at this moment, there was nothing better than his sandwich. 

Spock launched into an explanation of his experiments. Most of it Kirk knew from the weekly departmental reports, but hearing the Vulcan talk about Glavarian foliage and Zinib helminthes brought the abstract concepts into a whole new light. 

His manner never changed. One might think that he could have been reading the dictionary; his voice was as bland and unfeeling as ever… except for that undercurrent of unadulterated fascination. Kirk watched, having already finished with his sandwich, and listened with rapt attention. 

Spock finished his elucidation and Kirk regretted the loss of that warm tenor in the air. He blinked a few times, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. “So,” he cleared his throat. “Chess?”

They set up the game and settled in for a long evening. Kirk took white. 

“How did you learn chess?” he asked, suddenly realizing that he didn’t know the answer. Spock looked contemplative. 

“My mother,” he replied. “Chess was her favorite game. I believe the logical aspect of it helped her to connect with me as I grew older.”

Kirk caught a note of tenderness in his voice. “You don’t talk about her much,” he said.

“No more than you speak of your mother,” Spock pointed out, capturing a pawn. 

“My mom was awesome,” he declared, seizing an opportunity to move his castle forward. 

“Indeed?” There was a genuine tone of interest in his First Officer’s voice. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Mom always had a solution to everything. One weekend, I was dying of boredom and Mom brought home some aluminum shavings. No idea where she got ‘em. We spent the rest of the afternoon making thermite and blowing up ancient toaster ovens.”

The Vulcan’s eyebrows soared up into his bangs. “Your mother permitted you to have access to volatile compounds?”

“‘Permitted?’ It was her idea,” Kirk laughed. “Told you. She rocked.”

“Fascinating,” Spock murmured. “My mother was a school teacher.”

“What did she teach?”

Spock reached over and took one of Kirk’s bishops. “Literature. One of my maternal ancestors was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. When I was very young, Mother believed in the common Earth tradition of ‘bedtime stories’ and made it her duty to tell abbreviated versions of the Sherlock Holmes tales every evening.”

Kirk grinned. “I love those books.”

“I have never read them,” Spock admitted. A slip of a smile crossed his lips. “Check.”

“What?” Kirk leaned over and studied the board, startled to see his queen wide open. “Has anyone told you, Mr. Spock, that you play a very irritating game of chess?”

“Indeed not,” he replied. “I will take that as a compliment. Checkmate.”

…

Their games lasted deep into the night and Kirk was winning at last when a several loud thuds banged through the bulkheads out in the hallway. 

“The hell…?” Kirk stood and opened the door. Spock followed. 

Two crewmen, one in his uniform reds and the other out of uniform, wearing a t-shirt, attacked each other, throwing punches and shouting. 

 

“Hey!” Kirk shouted. They didn’t hear him. He jumped in and tried to wrestle them apart. After a second, Spock joined him and they forced the two away from each other. They tumbled over, panting and gasping. One wiped a strand of saliva from his chin. Kirk stepped forward to yell at them both when the redshirt suddenly charged and drove his shoulder into the other’s gut, ramming both of them into the bulkhead. 

Kirk reached over and grabbed the shoulders of the first man, pulling him backwards and tossing him so he skidded down the hall. “Stay there,” he barked, nailing the crewman with enraged eyes as he saw the young man back away as if he planned to flee the scene. “And you,” he turned the look onto the man gasping for breath against the wall, “Do you need a doctor?”

“No,” he wheezed. 

“Good. Explain. Now.” 

He felt Spock, solid and resolute as ever, bristling at his side. Neither of the crewmen said a word. 

“The captain gave you an order,” his First Officer told them frigidly. 

“I didn’t do anything, sir,” the redshirt said stiffly. 

“You—” the other man started, so angry he couldn’t even finish the thought. He turned to Kirk. “Sir, he left the water running in our bathroom. Now my entire hot water ration is used up and we’re not even halfway through the year yet.”

“Oh, so it’s his fault and you didn’t do anything wrong, is that it?” Kirk asked. 

“Yes, sir.”

Kirk felt a wave of exasperation tumble through him. He spared a second to make a note to himself to send Pike a bottle of scotch for all the times he’d forced the man to deal with shit like this. 

“Names.”

“Robert Cromby.”

“Justin Keas.”

“Mr. Cromby and Mr. Keas, do you know what my mom did to my brother and me when we did stupid shit to each other?” he asked and barreled on without waiting for a response, “She got an extra large sweater and shoved both of us into it. I couldn’t so much as take a piss without Sam plastered to my side. And we had to stay like that for a whole fucking day. I don’t care whose fault this is; both of you tried to fight it out, so you’re both wrong. If you can’t get over yourselves and behave civilly, I’ll go find a shirt to stuff you into and make you put up with each other for a week.”

No one said a word. Kirk pinned them with a hard look. “Consider yourselves both on report. A transport will meet us at Sigma 9; if you so much as blink wrong before then, I’ll have you off my ship. This crew works together. Period. Get that into your thick heads. Dismissed.”

They trudged off down the hall, stiffly not looking at each other, and disappeared around the corner. 

“I have never heard of clothing being used as a form of punishment,” Spock said after a long silence. “Most imaginative.”

Kirk shook his head and went back into his quarters. The door hissed closed behind them. “Winona Kirk, queen of creative solutions.”

“Indeed. I can see now where you learned it.”

He grinned at the Vulcan. “Thanks. Now sit down and play so I can creatively kick your ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to pick up pretty fast on the K/S side of things. Next three chapters are already written. And guess what? I have subplots! Weeeee!!!!!
> 
> And thank you thank you thank you to everyone who leaves reviews. I appreciate it more than you know. Happy reading!


	6. Give Me the Odds and Watch Me Break Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience. The control of feelings so that they do not control you.

Sigma 9. The planet’s atmosphere contained many of the compounds found on Vafer-tor, the planet now hosting the remaining members of the Vulcan species. 

Unlike Vafer-tor, the temperature of Sigma 9 rested near freezing on the Celsius scale. Everyone on the away team had prepared for this, but Spock found it difficult to focus when discomfort seemed to eat at every inch of his skin. While the jacket provided by the ship’s quartermaster was well-insulated, the occasional, sharp breeze whipped cold air up his sleeves and around his face. 

The away team consisted of Spock and three people from his department. Dr. Gray, an unranked scientist, specialized in tectonic activity. Dr. Els, another unranked scientist, worked in geological sampling. Ensign Cheus had taken the role of assistant. As he was new to the department, Spock had decided the fieldwork would be most beneficial in teaching proper protocols and skills. 

Captain Kirk remained on the bridge of the Enterprise, which hung in suspended orbit somewhere far above the dusty red clouds. 

“Sir!” Dr. Gray called. “I’m getting strange readings.”

He capped a small tube of mineral dust he’d been collecting and went over to her. 

“I’m analyzing subsurface movement,” she explained, tilting the equipment so that he could see over her shoulder. “There’s something down there, sir.”

Jagged lines crossed the screen at erratic intervals. The amount of movement was far too irregular to be anything geological unless an earthquake was occurring without affecting the planet’s surface; highly unlikely, he concluded. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, moving a few feet away and taking out his communicator. “Spock to Enterprise.”

“Kirk here,” his captain answered. Spock blinked, surprised that the captain would monitor the away team’s frequencies personally. “What’s up, Mr. Spock?”

“Dr. Gray has discovered an inconsistent degree of movement beneath the planet’s surface. Please have Mr. Thomas perform a deeper scan with high frequency sensors.”

“Gottcha. Give us a minute.”

When the channel opened again 43 seconds later, Ensign Thomas’s voice came through. “Sir, I’m getting biological readings. It looks like there’s some kind of living organism deep in the planet’s crust. Based on the data, I’d say it’s either a colony of some sort or a very, very large single entity. It’s right underneath you.”

“Do we need to pull them up?” came Kirk’s alert voice in the background. 

“There is no way of knowing if the organism – or organisms – present any danger to this team, Captain,” Spock replied. “I would prefer to continue conducting research.”

“Alright,” Kirk said. “I trust your judgment. But call back if this thing shows itself. I don’t want you all in danger from something we know nothing about. Better safe than sorry.”

“While I find his manner too emotional and unpredictable, I believe Dr. McCoy has been a positive influence on you, Captain. If you are testing the waters for new behavioral patterns, I offer my approval.”

When Kirk responded, his voice was full of laughter. “Thanks, Spock. Anyone ever told you you’re a smartass?”

“I believe you just did. Spock out.”

Two hours and twenty-one minutes later, his easy humor at the captain’s sudden preference for the safest course vanished. 

…

 

Kirk spun around in the chair. His shift had ended already, but he had nothing else to do, so he spun around. The captain’s chair really had a lot of things going for it, but right now, the ability to swivel did wonders for his easily entertained brain. 

The Bridge buzzed with a quiet kind of focus. His replacement had already shown up; he sent her away with instructions to relax for a few hours. The officers around him bent over their stations, completely captured by their various tasks. For once, he literally had no mission reports to read, no logs to enter, no departmental requests to sign, and no correspondence open with Starfleet Command to check on. 

“Sir,” the lieutenant who took over Spock’s station from Ensign Thomas called, breaking his silent wonder at the utter lack of things to do. He turned and acknowledged her. “Sir, I’m seeing an increase in the movement below the planet’s surface.”

“Increase?” he repeated, frowning. “Explain.”

“It’s—”

“Gray to Enterprise!”

Kirk punched the chair’s comm unit. “Go ahead, Dr. Gray.”

“Sir!” she yelled. Something like a giant wave crashed in the background, consuming her words. “Sir, something’s happening!”

“Beam them up,” Kirk ordered, keeping the channel open. “Dr. Gray, stay with me. What’s going on?”

There was a scuffling sound, as if she’d stuffed the comm unit into her pocket, and then a smack!

“We can’t beam them up!” called Ensign Dav’I from his station to Kirk’s right, his dark, wide eyes bright with alarm. “There’s a…”

“Dr. Gray!” he called, yelling to be heard. Dav’I finished whatever he’d said, but he didn’t pay attention. “Damn it. Someone get Spock.”

“I am here, Captain,” Spock’s voice came through Dr. Gray’s line. “Beam us up.”

“We can’t,” Kirk told him, looking over at Dav’I, who stared back. “We’re working on it. What’s going on?”

“The planet…” Static overcame the connection. “—eaking, sir. We—”

“Spock!”

But the channel was lost. “Damn it! What’s going on?”

At once, answers came from every different station. 

“The organism appears to be surfacing, sir.”

“Transporter capabilities are too weak to attempt beaming, sir. It looks like something from the planet is releasing a kind of interference.”

“We’re still getting life signs from all of them.”

“Keep monitoring,” he ordered unnecessarily. He brought up a shipwide alert and called down to the shuttle bay. “Prep an emergency shuttle to go down to the planet.”

He shoved himself up from the chair. “Take the conn, keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir” chased him into the lift. It didn’t move fast enough. The bare seconds that ticked by ate at his nerves; the chilled uneasiness in his gut grew with every passing moment. He stomped it down and focused on a plan of action. When the lift dinged at the right floor, he flew out and down the hall before the doors could fully open. 

“Come on,” he muttered to himself, without really understanding why. “Come on.”

He leapt down the stairs and ran to the shuttle bay, where emergency crews hustled under the screech of the siren. 

“Shuttle four, sir,” a man directed as he ran. He turned and headed for the shuttle at the end of the line. His communicator chirped as he buckled in. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“The away team’s signals have disappeared, sir,” the ensign told him. 

“Damn it,” he cursed. Adrenalin coursed through his veins, turning his blood to ice. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, come on. 

The shuttle bay cleared. A security team buckled in around him and they took off. He brought his communicator up. “Bridge, update.”

“We’re sending you coordinates of Commander Spock’s last known location,” Uhura said. She sounded out of breath, as if she had run to her station at the sound of the siren, which she probably had. 

“Got it,” he told her, activating the grid pane and keying in the coordinates. “ETA six minutes. I’ll stay in contact. If the shuttle ends up in danger, but you have transporter capabilities, you beam up the away team first, understood?”

“Yes, sir. Good luck.”

He shoved the communicator into the slot on his belt. Six minutes. He breathed. Way too damn long. 

…

“Sir?”

Spock blinked. A sensation of vertigo overcame him and he closed his eyes again, willing the disorientation away. 

“Here,” he called when he could move his facial muscles without feeling nauseated. 

A tumble of gravel and surface debris signaled Dr. Els’s arrival. He blinked again and tried to focus on his surroundings. 

A brief analysis told him two things. First, it was bitterly cold. Subsurface temperatures – while lacking the variable of the wind – were far, far cooler than the planet’s exterior conditions. He estimated -40 degrees Celsius, but he could not be confident. Below a certain temperature, his Vulcan physiology simply processed his surroundings as imminently dangerous and began to cease non-vital functions in order to preserve energy. Given the inferiority of his clothing in dealing with such conditions, he knew he had less than two hours before his internal systems spiraled into shutdown. 

Second, he knew he was on a ledge. 

The organism – which he now understood was both carnivorous and massive – had erupted from the ground twenty-three meters from where they had been conducting tests. 

They had been given some warning, thankfully. Otherwise, he was not sure any of them would have survived. First, Ensign Cheus noticed a slight tremor in the saline solution he had added to small collection vial. Then, Dr. Gray’s instruments began to fade in and out, responding to a natural frequency disruptor emitted by the organism. Spock’s Vulcan hearing and sensitivity alerted them with enough time to run before the creature exploded from the ground, throwing them all off their feet. Dr. Els had been rendered unconscious in the fall. 

The creature – which looked vaguely like a mobile Terran sponge – was so large that its abrupt upsurge through the planet’s surface ripped wide, jagged cracks into the ground, stretching down into the blackness below for miles and miles. 

He seemed to be lying on a narrow, uneven ledge. All around him, the gloom shook with the creature’s wild search of the surface. While large, the organism seemed to have no sense of smell or sight. He expected some kind of neuro-electical sensor ability allowed it to navigate and find prey. 

Dr. Els slid down next to him. “Are you alright, sir?”

“I believe so,” he replied. “The others?”

“I don’t know.” There was a quaver in her voice. 

“The Enterprise will likely have lost our tracking signals,” he told her. “Do you have your comm unit?”

His own had tumbled out of his belt when he fell. Dr. Gray’s had also been lost. Els struggled with the clasp on her belt for a moment, then handed the dirt-covered unit to him. 

“Enterprise,” he said. No reply. He manipulated the frequency, but the unit did not respond. 

An unforgiving and powerful shaking almost threw them off the ledge. Spock reached around and pinned Dr. Els to the rock face to keep her from falling as the shuddering pulled sediment from above to rain down on their heads. 

After long minutes, it stopped. Spock carefully retracted his arm in case it started again. 

“Our devices seem to be impeded by the organism,” he said. “More importantly, I believe if I am correct in assuming it uses electromagnetic hypersensitivity to localize its targets, then we should refrain from attempting to use technology at all.”

Els nodded, her eyes squinting up through the dust-laden air to locate the thin strip of light far, far above them. 

Spock peered into the deep blackness. “Dr. Gray?” he called. His voice echoed around the deep cavern. 

“Mr. Spock!” came a voice. It was so far below them, he had to strain to catch the last notes before it was lost in the dimness. 

“Ensign Cheus?” Dr. Els asked. 

“Yes!” the young ensign called back. “Where are you?”

“Approximately forty-seven meters below the surface,” Spock answered. He waited for the echo to fade before continuing, “Do not use any technology or frequency-emitting devices.”

Ensign Cheus did not respond for a moment. “Don’t, sir?”

“Indeed,” he called back. “Do not.”

“…okay, sir,” the young man replied. 

The ground shivered. Spock dug his fingers into the crumbling soil and hung on. A rock shook loose above them and clattered down into the abyss. Without communicators or tracking abilities, the Enterprise had no way to narrow their search. It was very possible they would not be found before the ledge gave way or the organism discovered their position.

Given the onset of trembling in Dr. Els’s hands, he did not deem it wise to impart this information. 

…

The shuttle broke free of the cloud layer. Red-dusted air covered the front window. Kirk pushed the little craft faster as the ground approached. External temperatures read 1 degree Celsius. The team had been equipped to handle the planet’s climate, but in peril, near-freezing temperatures could destroy a group’s chances of survival. 

His mind jumped again to Spock. The Vulcan would do everything in his power to keep the scientists with him alive. But as the individual in charge, that responsibility could ask for sacrifices Kirk didn’t allow himself to think about. 

He scanned the horizon and froze. 

“Sir!”

He saw it. A massive, orange-maroon colored… thing. It looked like a slow-moving hunk of coral. The creature was immense; perhaps over half the size of the Enterprise itself. 

“Scan the surface,” he ordered.

“Scanners are completely offline, Captain.” But Kirk had anticipated this and pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“That thing is right on top of Spock’s last coordinates,” he told them, briskly turning to the tracking screen, which flashed in and out, clearing fighting to remain operable. “Let’s get as close to the ground as we can. Keep your eyes open.”

He steered towards the creature, noting its lumbering movements. It just kind of oscillated back and forth like a giant tongue. Keeping an alert eye on the organism, he swung the shuttle down to patrol the surface. 

“There are deep cracks in the planet’s crust, sir,” one officer said. “The sensors are going nuts, but I’d say the crevasses are pretty deep.”

“Alright,” he acknowledged, glancing at the flight system readout. “Whatever the fuck that thing is doing to our sensors, it isn’t hurting the shuttle’s stability.”

He made a wide perimeter around the sponge-organism-thing. It swung towards them and he veered off, only meters from the ground. There was no sign of the away team. “You think they might have fallen?” he asked. 

“It’s possible, sir,” the Andorian to his left commented. “Those fissures are pretty wide.”

He checked on the creature again – it wove blindly in the dusty atmosphere, its exterior pulsating as if it were inhaling or tasting the air. The fractures in the planet’s surface were wide enough at some points to accommodate the shuttle. 

Making a spur-of-the-moment decision, he dove into the first one, cursing at the pitch blackness. 

“Lights aren’t coming on,” he mumbled, flipping a switch a few times. The exterior illumination system choked and spluttered feebly. “Do we have any hand-helds?”

Two men behind him unbuckled and went to the shuttle door. They strapped into the harness that extended from the ceiling and pushed the hatch wide open. Cold air rushed into the compartment. He bit down and ignored it, focusing on his surroundings as the security personnel flashed high-intensity hand-held light units at the crumbling rock surrounding the shuttle. 

Kirk navigated the tight space at the slowest possible speed, almost coming to a halt a few times to search out the dark space for signs of life. 

A rock fell and banged the top of the shuttle. “Careful!” he warned as the two men at the door fought for their balance. Another rock fell, crashing into the front window. He cursed. 

The ravine grew snug around them. A few times, the stabilizers clipped the rock face and made the craft shudder. 

“I’m pulling us up,” he told his security team. Another rock hit the top of the shuttle. “Damn it.”

“Sir!”

Kirk froze, pulling the shuttle to an abrupt halt. “What?”

He turned. The men at the doors had their lights directed upwards. 

“Sir, another twelve meters up,” one told him. He turned and directed the shuttle upwards. 

“Oh thank goodness!” he heard a feeble voice gush under the sound of the engine. The shuttle came to a stop, hovering in place. “Thank you! Thank you!”

“Easy doctor,” one of the security men told the shaking Dr. Gray. They pulled her from the rocky ledge she’d been clinging to and set her in the compartment. 

“Doctor, you alright?” Kirk asked. 

“My ankle,” she replied unevenly. “It’s… I don’t know if there’s anyone else out there.”

“We’ll keep looking.” He carefully navigated upwards, aware of the sound of a thermal blanket being unwrapped in the background. His jaw had begun to ache from the pressure of his clenched teeth. One down, three to go. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead. 

Dr. Gray gave a sharp moan of pain. “Ankle’s broken, sir,” the Andorian told him.

He nodded his understanding and continued to scan the darkness. The high-intensity lights revealed miles and miles of darkness for every meter of exposed space. 

Two minutes. Seven minutes. Twenty-one minutes. Thirty-four minutes. 

Every second chewed on his nervously beating heart. Come on. Come on. 

A pebble came flying at the window in front of his face. He jerked instinctively. “Shit.”

It had come not from above, but from the side. To his left. “Direct the light to the left,” he ordered, standing to get a better view out the front of the shuttle. Another rock pelted off the window. He followed the trajectory and pointed. “Over there. Point the light over there.”

Bright white light flooded the shadowed space and revealed two bodies. One waved with both arms, the other looked poised to grab the first in case the movement jostled them off the ledge. 

“Spock!” he shouted, a crazy, warm relief crashing into his body. The pressure in his gut dissolved, leaving him breathless. Carefully, he brought the shuttle as close as he could. The security team pulled Spock and Dr. Els into the compartment. 

“Ensign Cheus was right below us,” Els gasped. Kirk turned back to the navigation panel and dropped the shuttle slowly until another figure came into view. 

Everyone was alright. He took a deep breath and finally allowed a welcome smile to overcome his face. Everyone was alive. The team eased Cheus from his position in a deep crack in the rocks and closed the hatch, cutting off the freezing stream of air. The shuttle rose.

Kirk kept a watchful eye on the giant creature as he navigated back into the light. The chair to his right turned and his First Officer slid in next to him. 

“Hey,” he said, careful to keep his voice down. In the back, the Andorian evaluated the others for shock. 

“Captain.” The deep, steady timbre of Spock’s voice sent another rush of relief over him. “I am grateful of the rescue.”

“Couldn’t leave you,” he said, sending a raised eyebrow at the Vulcan. “You know that.”

“Nonetheless, the odds of successful rescue –” Spock began but Kirk cut him off with a smile. 

“Spock.” His First Officer closed his mouth and acknowledged him with a glance. “I’m glad you’re alight.”

His comm unit crackled to life as they lifted over the clouds into the blackness of space beyond. He took it from his belt and handed it to Spock. 

“Captain? Captain Kirk! Do you have them?”

“I am here, Lieutenant,” Spock replied. “The away team is safe.” Uhura’s sigh of relief came through the channel.

“Please tell the captain that the transport from Starfleet Command has arrived,” she said. Kirk heard the smile in her voice. It matched the one that wouldn’t leave his face. Fuck, he was so thankful. The rolling waves of happiness acted like a balm on his bruised lungs and heart, which had ached painfully since Dr. Gray’s terrified communication. 

Back on the ship, he helped Dr. Gray out of the shuttle and into the hands of the medical staff standing by. His people were out of danger. At last he allowed himself to acknowledge the horrible, twisting pit of fear that had engulfed his heart. The relief of seeing Spock – seeing the whole team, he corrected – washed it all away. With one last glance at the rescued team and a hard slap on the shoulder for his First Officer, he went to welcome the transport personnel waiting in the hall. 

He did not see Spock staring after him, an unfathomable expression written in the Vulcan’s dark eyes.


	7. It Comes from Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of months of friendship.

The terminal in Spock’s room pinged. He pushed up from his bed, where he’d been reclining in an attempt to sleep, and opened the visual channel. His father appeared on the screen. 

“Father.” He saluted in greeting. 

“Spock,” his father returned the gesture. “I called to enquire about your health.”

“I am well, Father,” he replied, tilting his head inquisitively. “And yourself?”

Sarek hesitated. “I am… as well as can be expected,” he finally said. The painful pause carried his mother’s absence like a gaping wound. It seemed, over the past months, that his father was trying to be more open with him. The fact that he admitted any difficulty at all was a sizeable departure from the impassable front he used to uphold. Spock recognized this, but did not comment on it.

“How is the establishment of the new colony progressing?” he asked instead.

“Temporary facilities have been completed,” his father said. “A site has been selected for the new VSA. Your counterpart has been instrumental in expediting the process; I do not believe we would have come this far so quickly without his aid.”

Spock acknowledged this with a passive nod. He was not yet sure how he felt about the older version of himself, most importantly because Ambassador Spock _was not_ identical to him despite the fact that the majority of those aware of the odd situation seemed to believe that he was. 

“And how is your captain faring in his first year of command?”

Spock blinked. “His performance is commendable,” he said. 

Sarek raised a dubious brow. “Not ten months ago, you attempted to strangle him. Clearly your opinion of the human has changed.”

He suppressed the violent blush of shame that tried to creep up his face and maintained a cool outward composure. But he tilted his chin in agreement, nonetheless. “Captain Kirk has proven himself suited for leadership. Despite his often illogical decisions, his optimism and quick-thinking have somehow managed to defeat the odds against every obstacle with which we have come into contact.”

“High praise,” Sarek commented. “You have found no difficulty in working with him professionally?”

“None,” he replied instantly. A strange jitter of defensiveness crawled into his mind; he dismissed it as irrational. His father was not implying any incompetency or defect within his captain, despite the odd strain of these questions. He could not stop himself from venturing, tentatively, “I believe I have formed a friendship with him.”

He did not expect the crinkles at the corners of his father’s eyes, the most blatant version of a Vulcan smile he had ever seen on Sarek’s severe face. “Your mother,” Sarek said softly after a few seconds, “would be happy for you.”

…

 

In the morning, before his shift began, Spock made his way to Med Bay. After the mission on Sigma 9, Dr. McCoy had scheduled an additional check up on every member of the away team. 

The door to the Med Bay slid open. He entered and stopped. At the far end of the circular room stood Dr. McCoy, organizing medical implements while talking to Kirk. The captain leaned casually against a biobed, his forearms braced on the sheets. The stark white lights from above made his hair gleam a vibrant gold. 

“Right on time, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, catching sight of him when he turned to put something away. Kirk looked, too, and grinned. 

“Morning, Spock,” he called, pushing off the bed.

“Good morning, Captain,” he nodded. “Dr. McCoy.”

“We’re not on duty yet, Spock,” the captain said. “I think I’ve told you before to call me Jim.”

Spock inclined his head, feeling a strange thrill in his side. “Very well… Jim.”

Kirk flashed a stunning smile. He had found over the past seven point four months that he deeply relished making his captain – _Jim_ – smile. 

“Take a seat,” the doctor ordered. 

“I’ll see you on the bridge, Spock,” Kirk told him as he started to leave. He grasped Spock’s shoulder in a friendly squeeze and waved to McCoy, who ignored him. The door hissed closed and the sound of his footsteps disappeared. 

He sat obediently on the nearest bed and waited as the doctor performed preliminary scans with his omnipresent tricorder. Nine minutes later, after having him answer a panel of questions, McCoy pronounced him fit. 

“Thank you, Doctor.” He moved off the bed and straightened his shirt. “I was not aware that the captain woke this early.”

McCoy didn’t look up from the PADD he scribbled on. “He doesn’t. Usually. Says he’s been having strange dreams lately.”

“Did he request a sleep aid?” he asked, concerned. Kirk had not appeared weary, but in all things with his captain, appearances could be deceiving. 

“Nah,” McCoy told him. “I offered, he declined. He just wanted to talk before his shift. It’s amazing how we live and work on the same ship, but we hardly have time to see each other. At the academy, I practically had to peel him off my side with a spatula. Why am I telling you this?”

The doctor fixed him with a suspicious glare. He raised an eyebrow in return. 

“Outta my Med Bay, hobgoblin.”

“Goodbye, Dr. McCoy.”

He left. Over the past several months, as a bond of friendship was forged between himself and the captain, an unexpected alliance had also been formed with Dr. McCoy, whose surly attitude and dramatic flair often translated into concern. 

The doctor’s variant of Standard did not come with a manual; Spock spent most of his time in the other man’s company trying to interpret obscure metaphors and insults. What he found was that at heart, McCoy was a loyal companion. Perhaps his most commendable trait was the diligence with which he attended Captain Kirk’s health, mentally and physically. 

And Spock could never dislike a person for that. 

The bridge was quiet when he exited the turbolift. Aside from Kirk, who smiled warmly at him before returning to his PADD, only two ensigns had arrived early. He sat and turned to ask Kirk a question. 

In his Command golds, Kirk presented a young but accomplished image. He sat low in the chair, his legs splayed out in front of him with his eyes darting across the PADD’s screen in a picture of relaxed focus. 

Spock took in the strong curve of Kirk’s jaw and the sturdy slope of his neck. His healthy upper body muscles pulled the lightweight fabric of his shirt tight whenever he moved. The set of his shoulders proclaimed every ounce of confidence Spock knew his captain possessed in full. Some, he had overheard, called Kirk arrogant or cocky. But after several months of observing meticulously, Spock identified the attitude as stemming from an innate well of talent and capability. 

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Spock?”

He blinked and saw Kirk looking back at him expectantly. “No, sir. I believe I have just experienced what is called ‘staring off into space.’”

The captain grinned and he instantly appreciated the neat, white line of his teeth, set behind gregarious lips and a charming profile. Spock turned around before he began composing sonnets about the human. A self-conscious flush tingled up his ears. 

The range of these opinions was entirely inappropriate, he thought to himself, peering aimlessly over the readings at his station. And yet, they flowed freely and naturally from his mind without prompting. Immediately following his shift, he decided, he would block off several hours in his schedule and meditate. The experiments could wait; this was far more important.

…

 

Kirk watched Spock leave at the end of their shift. Normally, he’d call out after him and invite him to a chess match (knowing of course that the Vulcan would accept). But he suspected all of the time they spent together came at a cost. Spock was incredibly efficient and budgeted his time so that he would almost always be busy. 

Their chess games – now up to five times a week, lasting at least two hours each – had to be eating into his schedule. His gut clenched at the idea that Spock was probably making sacrifices for him. The science department could function without the First Officer’s presence 24/7, but Spock liked his work. It was important to him. 

So Kirk turned back around and looked out at the stars as Chekov and Sulu joked with each other, joining Uhura in the turbolift. His Beta shift replacement had sent him a message that she would be twenty minutes late. Normally, he wouldn’t tolerate that much tardiness, but Bones had also sent him a message and hinted that the Lieutenant Commander requested a private eval for personal reasons. 

He had enough respect for his crew not to ask questions after that. The minutes trickled by. Beta shift started; he smiled and chatted with the officers who wandered in. Everyone got settled. A few minutes later, Lieutenant Commander Ferrara came panting out of the turbolift as if she had run to the bridge. Kirk clapped her on the shoulder on his way out, catching her grateful smile before he stepped into the lift. 

Alone, he let the easy grin melt off of his face. 

This morning, he had hoped Bones would tell him that something in his diet or a compound in one of the doctor’s surprise hypospray ambushes from the week before could cause strange dreams as a side effect. 

In the past two days, he had experienced the exact same dream. In it, he sat on the observation deck, his back to the bulkhead and the vast expanse of space stretched out before him. The view never failed to steal his breath away. 

On the floor next to him was Spock. They sat shoulder to shoulder and didn’t say a word. The simple, companionable silence that he had come to enjoy held both of them in place, neither wanting to move or speak lest it break. 

And then, in a motion that seemed completely ordinary in the dream, Spock laid his hand palm up on the scant few inches of floor between them. Kirk smiled softly and placed his hand on top, their fingers entwining securely. And they just sat there until Kirk woke up.

But when he did wake, instead of being surprised or feeling weird, he felt a deep, almost agonizing yearning in his chest that begged for it to not be a dream. He’d lain silently on his bed, a single tear tracking down the side of his face. He couldn’t lie to himself in that moment and say that he didn’t know why. 

That kind of connection… he’d never allowed himself to get that close to someone before. Mostly because he hadn’t known something that potent could exist. But with Spock… 

He wanted so desperately for it to be real. His dream-self had been holding hands with an imaginary version of his best friend. It wasn’t explosive or earth-shattering. But the depth of his emotions, the intensity and the power in that single gesture – it was indescribable. 

The turbolift opened and Kirk went to his quarters to shower and think some more. 

…

 

Hot, dry air draped like a heavy blanket over Spock. He knelt on the floor, candles lit all around him. But his awareness was deep, deep inside. 

There, thoughts came and went. He saw them and dismissed them, on a mission for something specific. 

Jim Kirk appeared without delay. Or rather, his essence appeared, filling his mind. A dazzling burst of light. Confidence, happiness, intelligence, determination, stubbornness. 

He admired the show in captivated thoughtfulness for a moment. Then he focused.

Jim Kirk was his friend. He knew that now with absolute certainty. The human filled a part of his soul, repairing the damage wrought by Vulcan’s destruction and the subsequent loss of the most precious figure in his life. 

But Kirk did not replace Amanda. In no way was his captain’s role parental. But, Spock considered, he could be a brother. 

Kirk was dependable. He was compassionate. Despite his sometimes-flighty ways, Kirk operated with complete and steadfast loyalty. He was warmhearted by nature, a characteristic that came into startling clarity every time he smiled. 

Unlike Sybok, his blood-sibling, Jim was a brother he chose. Spock gladly embraced this fact. The human had become incredibly dear to him. 

… but these new notions. These untimely and almost constantly flowing observations… what did those say?

They said Kirk was… attractive. The alien thought did not feel very alien at all. As an athletic, well-spoken individual, Kirk demonstrated an air of charm. It was an air in which Spock found himself imprisoned. 

He could not allow himself to become trapped in this mode of thinking. It was dangerous and unprofessional. Despite the fact that no regulations existed to hinder relationships between colleagues on Federation ships, such entanglements were highly discouraged and looked down upon. 

If he did pursue these feelings, making Kirk his lover would… Spock stopped. All thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

Friend. Brother… Lover. T’hy’la. 

His heart clenched in his side, a warm surge heating through him that had nothing to due with the temperature of the room. He should have realized this sooner, he thought, awestruck. The general direction of his friendship with Kirk made it seem exceptionally apparent that everything was simply leading up to something greater. 

For a moment, he basked in the warm realization. 

If he confronted his captain, if he asked… Spock let the supposition hang for a second in his mind and swiftly culled it. A terrible, bone-chilling fear gripped him. 

If he pursued his attraction, his feelings of affection, everything could be lost. Jim was commitment-phobic. He was never too far away from some sexual liaison. (Now he realized the discomfort he felt whenever he saw Kirk with one partner or another was not to do with local food or noise level at all.) 

He had no right to ask Jim to depart from his nature to enter into an exclusive relationship. Doing so might effectively end their friendship, a thought that he protested before it could even complete itself in his mind. To see Jim flee from him, to see their conversations and time together turn sour and uncomfortable – no. No, he would not allow it. 

Another second passed and he permitted himself a last, tender glance at the bright, shining spectacle that was his mental image of James T. Kirk and then he slammed down a shield so hard, he pulled out of the meditation gasping for breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love K/S. I think that's pretty obvious, but my inner fangirl is sighing over the next chapter and I just can't stop writing. A few more chapters to go until we launch into the events of STID. I'm going to try to stick to the canon as much as possible, but with internal character reflections leaning towards K/S. After that, we have the year of shore leave and the beginning of the 5-year mission. So excited!!
> 
> As always, happy reading!


	8. Deeper Than You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and missions.

His hands met powerful shoulders. Naked shoulders. Demanding, hungry lips pressed open-mouthed kisses to his throat. Breathing a deep sigh, he slid his fingers around into short, sleek hair and tilted his head back, inviting the questing mouth to move closer against his skin. It did. 

A hot, strong tongue laved a scalding line up to his jaw. A nose buried into his cheek, breathing and nuzzling. He turned to capture the lips and was met with a deep, wet kiss. His tongue stroked out and tangled messily into the burning mouth. 

The body pressed closer, deliciously heavy and firm against his front. Strong thighs brushed his own. Aching for more, he arched up, bringing them flush. His ribs and chest pressed hard into the solid, muscular frame. A deep, heady moan sent a line of fire through his chest. More. Needed more. 

He pulled from the kiss and blindly nipped at the strong jaw pressing against his face. A hand pushed up into his hair, pulling him closer. He drew up his knees, capturing the body between his legs. Strong hips pressed him down into the mattress. Sheets slipped against his sweating flesh. 

“Yes,” he murmured, feeling the word resonate in his bones. The lips moved down. Powerful, long hands stroked southward. They worshiped the muscles of his abdomen, which clenched and fluttered under the touch. Unable to stay still, he pushed his hips up, rocking primitively against stomach now aligned with his groin. Course, thick chest hair burned as the torso dragged down his body. The hands trapped his hips, dragging him up and closer… so close…

The fingers whispered down his thighs, spreading him as he arched upward, blindly seeking the firm heat that remained anchored above him. His leg muscles tensed and he planted his feet into the bed, moving them as far apart as he could. 

A searing, damp breath smoothed over his skin. He bit back a breathy groan and arched, feeling so empty and needy…

The long fingers stroked back up and around to his inner thighs. He trembled. “Yes.”

“Shh,” the deep, steady voice came. “Shh.”

“Please,” he whispered, a scalding heat burning deep in his core. The fingers brushed at the creases where his thighs met his groin, closer and closer.

One strong thumb rubbed up his balls, playing confidently against the tender skin, dragging a deep, hard moan from the center of his being. He could have cried from relief as the thumb moved upwards, stroking a line up his cock. It retreated before it reached the head, brushing back down with a firm touch. His cock jerked. 

“Please,” he mumbled again. One of his hands found its way down to bury in sleek, dark hair. The other he threw out to the side, fingers grasping and clenching at nothing but sheets as another blaze tortured his body. “Spock…” 

Kirk’s eyes flew open, his lungs heaving and on fire. Sweat soaked his skin and the sheets were damp and cold around him. He brought his knees up, suddenly conscious of his raging hard on. Realizing he was alone, he squeezed his eyes shut for one long moment, then turned his head to look at the chronometer. 

Damn. Four hours until he had to be up. He breathed deep through his nose, trying to get his racing heart back under control. His cock begged for attention. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself and threw off the covers. He petted one hand down his chest, the skin tingling in its wake. When his fingers touched his erection, fire exploded anew through his body. His other hand wandered over his burning skin until it settled on one nipple, which peaked readily. 

This was the fifth dream he’d had about Spock since the events on Sigma 9, twelve days ago. Hell, he had sex dreams all the time, he thought, stroking his cock lightly. But they were usually fairly active from his end of things. Like, he was the one doing the fucking. With Spock…

These were different. In his dreams, he was almost smothered in heat and strength and the sheer presence of the Vulcan above him. And so far, they’d done nothing but touch each other and make out. Damn, if that’s what it felt like to kiss Spock, he really wanted to know what it felt like to do more. 

His cock twitched at the thought and he groaned, strengthening his grip. Spock. 

Spock was different. It wasn’t just his imagination – although his brain really liked to come up with fantasies revolving around the tall, black-haired science officer. Spock was steady and smart and funny and just… good. There was this solid, warm… something in his gut, something that heated up when Spock was around and hurt like a bruise when he wasn’t. 

Spock was his best friend – closer to him by far than Sam had ever been. He made Kirk think about things in a different way; there was something about him that made their relationship completely unlike what Kirk had with Bones. 

Analyzing it too hard about it made the ache even worse. Like, what if Spock found out? Kirk wasn’t used to having these feelings at all, damn it, let alone about the person whose opinion he cared about most. At first, Spock’s telepathy had been really cool. Now… now it was Kirk’s worst nightmare. 

He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Stop it, he told himself. Just fucking stop it. 

But that didn’t keep him from thinking about deep, dark eyes and quiet smiles and long-fingered hands. Two minutes later, he groaned and came, thick spats of semen coating his fingers. 

He let his head fall back heavily against his sweat-soaked pillow. With a groan, he pushed up and headed for a shower to start his day early. Again. 

…

Freshened and finally somewhat awake, Kirk entered the Mess, expecting the room to be empty. Instead, at a small table set against a window port, sat Spock with a cup of tea. His heart gave a thrilled flip even as a smile slid onto his face. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, approaching. He took an apple from the basket in the middle of the room as Spock looked up. The lines of his face relaxed in welcome. 

“Captain,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Please.” Spock watched him drop into a chair. “I trust you have slept well?”

Kirk grinned at the way his First Officer’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Spock and Bones had formed a united front in making sure he stayed healthy. If only they knew the nature of his nighttime visions… he stomped on that thought before it could go any further. “Yeah. You?”

“I achieved the rest I required,” he answered. 

“Good,” he took a bite of his apple. “What’s on the plate for today?”

…

Spock raised a brow. His mother had often used a similar turn of phrase, but he found he enjoyed teasing Kirk over the human’s common use of Terran expressions. The shield that held his deeper emotions in check did not prevent him from being Jim’s friend. 

Kirk rolled his eyes and swallowed. “I mean, what have you planned to accomplish today? What’s on the schedule?”

He suppressed a small smile. “I have allocated three hours for overseeing an experiment in Lab One. We are working with Engineering to produce frequencies that will not be impeded by electromagnetic outputs similar to those released by the creature on Sigma 9. Afterwards, I will return to the bridge for the remainder of my shift and read the mission briefing for our next assignment.”

“Sounds like a decent day,” Kirk commented, taking another bite of his apple. 

“If all goes according to plan, Captain,” Spock replied, thinking wistfully of the long list of missions gone wrong. 

“I’m pretty sure I told you to call me Jim,” he commented, finishing off the apple. 

“Indeed, you did. My apologies, Jim.”

Jim began to talk about the mission briefing, which he had surprisingly managed to read ahead of Spock. There was an omnipresent note of cheerful confidence in his voice. 

The door whispered open. Both of them turned to look as Sulu entered the room. 

“Good morning, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk called. 

“Captain. Commander.” The pilot smiled. “I didn’t think you got out of bed this early, sir.”

“Keeping tabs on me now?” Kirk leaned back in his chair. 

“Your usual hurried arrival on the bridge one minute until Alpha shift begins would suggest a preference for late mornings,” Spock told him. “In addition to the fact that 76% of the time, you don your command shirt in the turbolift.”

“Hmph.” 

“That is not a word,” Spock replied and he turned to the lieutenant. “Mr. Sulu, members of the botany lab have requested that you join them at 1100.”

“Great,” Sulu grinned. “We’re testing a new hybrid strain of _Vicia sativa_.”

“I was unaware of your proficiency in botanical sciences, Mr. Sulu,” Spock commented.

“President of the Botany Club at the Academy,” he said. Then added, “And the Fencing Club.”

The door slid open again. They all turned to see Chekov stumble in, covering a huge yawn. Sulu nodded farewell and went to join his companion at the replicator. 

Kirk stood. “I’m gonna head up,” he announced, stretching is arms widely. Three loud cracks sounded from his spine, making Spock wince. “See you in a bit.”

He nodded farewell and heard Chekov say as Kirk walked out, “I did not zink he got up zis early…”

…

The comm in the arm of the captain’s chair dinged as soon as Kirk exited the lift. “Patch it through,” he ordered, slipping into the chair. 

The screen blurred for a second and then Admiral Pike settled back into the frame. “Captain Kirk.”

“Admiral Pike,” he smiled. “What can we do for you, sir?”

“Looks like you get your wish,” he said. “Admiral Stuart has asked for assistance; you’re closest.”

Kirk couldn’t stop a rush of… not satisfaction exactly, but pride. He breathed deeply. “Of course.”

“Stuart still has point.” Pike gave him a stern look. “You’re there for manpower and cleanup. That’s it, Kirk.”

“Yes, sir,” Kirk nodded curtly. 

“Receiving coordinates now, Captain,” the Gamma shift helmsman said quietly.

“Plot it and punch it,” he instructed, looking back at Pike. “Anything else, Admiral?”

“That’s it for now,” Pike said. He leaned out of the frame and came back with a cup of coffee. “You’ve only got a few weeks left, Kirk. Bring the ship back in one piece, please.”

“Will do.”

Pike cut the visual feed and the channel went dead. Stars and planets whizzed by in streamers of light and color. “ETA?”

“Three hours, fourteen minutes, sir.”

“Thank you. Open a channel to Admiral Stuart, Lieutenant.”

A few seconds later, Rear Admiral Stuart appeared, his thinning brown hair glistening as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. 

“Mr. Kirk,” he wheezed, covering his mouth. A huge cough racked his chest. “’scuse me.”

“Admiral.” Kirk offered a short salute. “Admiral Pike just gave us our new orders. We’ll be at your location in a little over three hours.”

“Excellent!” he coughed. “Good, good.”

“Everything alright, Admiral?”

Stuart waved dismissively. “Chronic bronchitis. You’d think they’d have figured out the cure by now.”

“You’d think,” Kirk agreed. 

“Anyway.” Stuart leaned back, clearing his throat once more. “Here’s the situation. Mr. Fen Eltran has given the location of the trafficking operation in return for a lighter sentence. He’ll be spending the rest of his life under house arrest on Riza.”

Kirk slumped back and let out a sound of disgust. 

“That’s not our problem, now,” Stuart told him. “Right now, we’re looking at a small moon in the Cygnus Delta 4 system. It’s armed to the teeth and they’re using the hostages as shields. I’ve got a working plan of attack, but one ship won’t be enough. We need to police the area to ensure no one makes a break for it.”

“We are at your disposal.”

“I’ll have more specific instructions to you by the time you get here,” Stuart promised. He coughed again. A noise broke in from behind the screen; the admiral looked up. “That’s all for now. Kirk.”

“Admiral.” He nodded and the channel went flat. He stood and straightened his shirt. “Take the conn.”

“Aye, sir!”

He had a First Officer to update.


	9. A Poisonous Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise and the Clarendon team up to rescue the captured women and children.

The moon in Cygnus Delta 4’s system – or at least the one they were interested in, because there were hundreds of them – was called Montressor. It had served as a port for decades, but plummeted into bankruptcy when Starfleet charted new trade routes that circumnavigated the system entirely. 

The Enterprise hung in space, parked less than two kilometers from the moon’s furthest scanner range. Beside it, the USS Clarendon looked a little bit like a dejected younger sibling. The Clarendon was a Mediterranean-class vessel due for decommission in three months. (And, according to scuttle-butt, as Scotty called it, Admiral Stuart was decommissioning with it.)

Kirk stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Spock, looking up at a layout of the compound they planned to infiltrate. Admiral Stuart’s voice filtered in through an open comm. 

“The women and children are being held here,” he said, a small portion of the blueprint lighting up. “A shield protects the compound itself, so we can’t beam in or out. We have no intel of any males among the hostages; Eltran’s involvement ended with the kids and females. The sick bastard.”

Kirk saw Spock’s eyebrow wing up in his peripheral vision. 

“We need a team on the inside to ensure the safety of the captives. Once the Vulcans and Betazoids are out, we can proceed to kicking in doors and taking prisoners.”

“The criminals are heavily armed and present a serious threat,” Spock intoned. “How is a tactical team to perforate their defenses and access the prisoners without risking the lives of those at stake?”

“Conduits were laid under the port’s infrastructure to generate power for the entire city. A team will access the main power grid there, cut the power, and then enter the compound. The smaller the team, the better. I’ve got three people ready to go.” The image of the map disappeared to be replaced by Stuart, now dressed in Command gold. “We need your best security personnel outfitted and ready to go in twenty.”

“I’ll go,” Kirk said he looked sideways at Spock, who inclined his head. “Spock, too.”

“No-can-do, Captain,” Stuart replied. “Your face has been plastered all over Federation tabloids for the last year. We’re aiming for stealth; I’m afraid you and Commander Spock are too high-profile for this end of the mission.”

“Captain Kirk and I have experience infiltrating enemy territory under heavy fire, Admiral,” Spock defended. “In the minutes before the Narada attacked Earth, we alone were able to board the ship and prevent the destruction of another Federation planet, rescuing a wounded hostage in the process.”

“That may be, Commander Spock, but I can’t risk either of you being recognized. I need you both standing by in the event that any part of this plan fails; you’re my only back up.”

“Sir—” Kirk began, rubbing his forehead. He struggled to think of how to politely phrase what he wanted to say, then gave up and just said it. “Sir, you know I’ve got a talent for hacking. Get me in there; I’ll take out the grid faster than anyone on either of our ships. Once the power’s out, it won’t make a difference if anyone recognizes me. In the chaos of an ambush, I can tell you that no one in that compound is going to give two fucks if the person attacking them is a celebrity.”

Admiral Stuart leaned back in his chair. “Pike always said you were direct.”

Kirk straightened. He tried to summon some semblance of chagrin, but failed and stared back unapologetically. 

“Alright, Kirk, you’re in. But I need someone in command of the Enterprise who knows what they’re doing.” He looked pointedly at Spock.

“I will remain,” the Vulcan said. Kirk heard the stony quality of his voice and nodded a quick farewell to the admiral. The screen went dark. 

He turned to his First Officer. “I got this, Spock. Don’t worry.”

“Worrying is an inefficient expenditure of energy and time, Captain. I do not worry.”

“Good to know.” He turned and left the conference room, the Vulcan right on his heels. A few seconds later, they stood together on the bridge. “Map of the system, on screen.”

The blackness of space flashed into a two-dimensional chart. “It is likely any fleeing vessels will be routed around the back of the moon towards Cygnus Delta 4; the proximity of Starbase 12 offers too great a threat to risk any other trajectory.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Kirk muttered, studying the map. 

“Given the Clarendon’s lack of the most advanced warp capabilities and smaller weapons supply, it is logical that the Enterprise be maneuvered to anticipate this course.” Spock glanced at him.

“Hey, Spock,” Kirk said, “have I told you lately that I love how you can read my mind?”

“First, you have never said such because I have never used my telepathy on you,” Spock corrected. “Second, since neither of us has initiated physical contact, it is impossible to do –”

“Spock.” He leveled a look at his First Officer that said ‘I was being metaphoric’ and the Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got to go. Stuart’s expecting me.”

“Captain,” Spock said as Kirk stepped into the lift. He stopped the doors. “… Good luck.”

Kirk grinned and let the doors close. Spock would take care of the ship. Now he had to focus on the mission. Fast. Because his brain had come to a screeching, seizing, oh-fuck-me halt when the Spock said ‘physical contact’ with him in context.

_Get yourself together, Kirk,_ he growled at himself. _What are you, a thirteen-year-old girl?_

He took a second to rest his forehead against the turbolift wall before the doors dinged open and he had to be a starship captain again. 

…

On the Clarendon, Kirk stripped and dressed in all-black stealth gear. The vest wouldn’t stop a phaser blast, but it would protect him from older projectile weapon-types. Stuart’s team of three checked their equipment efficiently beside him. 

Two were Human; the last was Ligonian – a tall, proud-looking humanoid with rich dark skin. He had been the only one to offer a full salute when Kirk had walked in. The others were too preoccupied with their gear to give more than a nod. 

“I’m Jim Kirk,” Kirk said, catching everyone’s attention once he was fully clothed. 

“Lieutenant David Kerns,” one man said, offering his hand. Kirk shook it. 

“Commander Lark Vashel.” The taller one shook Kirk’s hand next. “First Officer.”

“I am Riyad Hali Rama’k,” the Ligonian told him, snapping into another salute. Oddly, it didn’t seem out of place. Ligonians were known for their strict adherence to codes of honor and respect. He saluted back formally. 

“Nice to meet all of you. Do we have a plan?”

“Computer, display.” The lights dimmed at First Officer Vashel’s order. A small light flashed up from the floor. 

“We enter here,” Riyad said, his voice deep and heavy. He pointed to a holographic representation of the tunnel they would beam into. “The moon’s surface will be 31 meters above, but the majority of the building is underground. Grid access is here,” he moved his hand to indicate a small section, “and the emergency entrance to the compound is here, which we will use to infiltrate the basement level.”

His finger moved up to an area roughly 2 inches above the tunnel, which to-scale was about 13 meters. 

“What about surveillance?” Kirk asked. 

“There are no sensors or vid-feeds in the tunnels,” Riyad replied. “We may expect a small armed guard at the emergency entrance.”

“The threat increases twenty-fold once inside,” Vashel said. “They’ll know we cut the grid and they’ll know what we’re after. While stealth is our best means, we will have lost the element of surprise once we’ve penetrated the main compound.”

“Right,” Kirk agreed. “And the captives are here.”

He reached forward and pointed to a section he recognized from Stuart’s blueprint earlier. 

“Yes,” Vashel replied. “I will take point. Riyad will cover our six, you’ve got the grid, and Kerns is overwatch. We’re leapfrogging to take what little surprise we’ve got and stretch it as far as we can. If the plan needs to change, we’ll have maximum flexibility.”

It became immediately apparent that Admiral Stuart’s men had heavy military backgrounds. He’d been in plenty of fights and knew Command track strategy front to back, but suddenly he felt very out-classed. 

Good thing Vashel knew what he was doing. Kirk decided for once, he wasn’t interested in being captain of the team (mostly because he knew he’d make an idiot of himself surrounded by these guys). 

“Questions?” Vashel looked at each of them, nodded, and turned. They all followed him to the transporter room. 

Helmets on and visors down, they crouched down on the pad, phasers already drawn. A pleasant hum and golden light surrounded Kirk. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them, they knelt on top of a pile of wide black cables inside a large, dark, metal tunnel. Vashel went ahead; Kirk followed. 

A low whirring under their feet told Kirk the wires below were alive. The moon’s subsurface conduits functioned well even after decades of neglect. 

Kerns held the only light – a dim, broad-beam attached to his helmet. It was just bright enough to show gaps in the cables so they could avoid tripping. 

A digital readout on his visor showed the curvature of the tunnel. A massive junction box protruded from the rounded wall just ahead. Checking with Vashel, who went ahead a few meters and halted, Kirk went to the box and holstered his phaser. 

He dug out a laser scalpel and set to work on the heavy metal cover. It cut through the hinges and the coded lock. He had to work fast. Heaving the lid off the face of the box, he scanned the inside and counted. 

Six down, three over. He made a single cut to a thin black wire. Two down. Another cut. A holographic display flickered to life. 

Having manually broken into the system’s digital access panel, he tucked the scalpel away and began planting a virus into the grid. It was a hybrid strand of the one he used on the Kobayashi Maru and something he’d cooked up in his head before leaving the Enterprise. And it did the trick. 

The electronic hum faded and stopped, leaving the tunnel silent except for the quite whisper of their boots on the cables. 

“Hurry,” Vashel ordered. They ran around a bend to where the tunnel sloped upwards, where they climbed. Kirk slipped once, but caught himself. 

The ‘emergency entrance’ was little more than a hatch over their heads. A blacked-out password display screen sat in the metal door just above a manual wheel override. Riyad, being the tallest and probably the strongest, holstered his phaser and stepped up to crank the hatch open. It opened slowly, the pressurized cables that commanded its release groaning with effort. 

Vashel reached up and heaved himself into the chamber above. Kirk followed, having to jump to reach. At least he had the upper body strength to pull himself up without assistance. 

Riyad and Kerns came after. He reached a hand down and helped Kerns stand. All inside, they drew phasers again and relied on their visors to tell them where to go. There was no light in the chamber. Kerns had turned off his headlight to avoid making a target of himself. 

Vashel went first up the metal stairs to their right. The visor display outlined a doorway just ahead. Kirk dropped into a crouch and raised his phaser at the door, waiting for Vashel to open it. 

As soon as he did, sharp flares of enemy fire blasted off the floor and the opposite wall. His visor showed two figures behind the blinding light and Kirk fired twice. Both fell. Vashel ducked into the hall and the rest followed, stepping over the bodies of the two guards. 

They made their way deeper, switching back and forth to check doorways and corridors branching off. It seemed at every turn, another man waited to drop on them. Riyad took care of the next three; Kirk shot another two after that. 

Vashel brought them to a halt and peeked into an empty doorway. He backed up an inch. 

“Ten,” he whispered into the comm connecting their helmets. “Three behind a table, four against the far wall, and the last three in the opposite doorway.”

Blood pumping, Kirk raised his phaser and watched for Vashel’s signal. Kerns plastered himself on the opposite side of the door. Breathing through his mouth (Kirk could hear it through the open channel), the First Officer turned and fired into the dark room. 

Kirk followed swiftly, feeling Kerns right on his tail. They kept up the barrage of fire, blinded by the flashes of light in pitch blackness. He heard a grunt behind him and moved to cover Kerns, who fell to the floor. 

He fired once more, bringing a man to the ground, and paused, scanning and listening. Vashel and Riyad did the same; all of the enemy figures outlined on their helmet visual were down. Kirk turned to Kerns. 

“Fine, sir,” he gasped, holding a bloody hand to his leg. The protective gear had been burned away, leaving the smell of charred fabric and skin. 

“Take my shoulder,” Kirk ordered, reaching down to grab him. Kerns gritted back another moan and pulled himself upright, breathing heavily through his nose. 

Vashel stepped forward to take him, but Kirk shook his head. “I got him.”

Kerns kept a rigid arm around the back of his neck and together they hobbled to the next door. He stopped for a second and switched so the man could lean on his opposite shoulder, leaving his dominant hand free. 

“Alright,” he said to Vashel, “Let’s go.”

They went through the door, weapons raised, to be met by another attack from the guards within.

…

“Commander, I’m seeing a dangerous buildup of carbon monoxide inside the compound,” an ensign said to Spock. He turned. 

“What are the current levels?”

“67 ppm and rising, sir.”

Spock engaged the comm unit on the chair’s arm. “Clarendon, this is Commander Spock.”

“Go ahead, Commander,” a female’s voice told him. 

“We are detecting a potentially deadly buildup of carbon monoxide within the compound. It is possible that life support systems were cut with the rest of the grid when the team disabled the building’s power.” He looked over at the ensign again and asked, “At what rate is the gas increasing?”

“0.76% per minute, sir,” he replied, looking back at his station. “It’s low, but after 70 ppm, anyone inside the compound will begin to see symptoms of poisoning. They have maybe 39 minutes before the buildup becomes fatal.”

“Can we contact the team inside?” he asked Lieutenant Uhura. 

“No,” she replied. “Their channel is on an isolated frequency, shared only between the four of them. If we open it, we could give anyone in the compound the ability to track them.”

Either way, the team was at risk. “Clarendon,” he addressed, opening the link again. “If anyone from the team contacts you, inform them of the carbon monoxide. Do not engage them otherwise.”

“Yes, sir,” the Clarendon’s communication officer affirmed. He heard her relay the command to Admiral Stuart, who agreed. 

“Good call, Mr. Spock,” Stuart said. The channel went flat again and the minutes ticked by.

He had to trust that Kirk would move as quickly as possible for the sake of the captives. Even without the added danger to himself and the team, he needed to believe the captain would work with the utmost efficiency. Otherwise, Jim might not return alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your compassion – I’m sorry if anyone felt like I was emotionally unloading on them. I really appreciate the support. 
> 
> And a really huge thank you to bobdog54, both for your incredible kindness and for your comment about Into Darkness. I had a tentative plan for the last 10 or so chapters, but what you said inspired me to go in a whole different direction and I love it. I didn’t want to forget anything, so I went ahead and wrote the final three chapters in one go.


	10. Home Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion of the rescue effort.

Kerns had passed out. They had made it through three more large rooms and another hallway before the Lieutenant slumped forward, unconscious. 

Kirk knew it had to be blood loss and pain, but he felt oddly fatigued and sick as well. Riyad was the only one who maintained perfect composure. Sweat dribbled down Kirk’s neck and back, making his clothes cling damply to his skin. 

His head pounded like his brain was about to explode out the back of his skull. Carrying the majority of Kerns’ weight could not have been that bad, he thought. Now he felt like he’d hiked with an elephant on his back in the Sahara. It wasn’t right. 

Gasping at the pain in his muscles and head, he pulled Kerns up against his side and went to heave his dead-weight into a fireman’s carry. Riyad stopped him. 

“I will carry him,” the tall Ligonian said. Kirk didn’t protest when he took Kerns from him. “Something is not right in the air.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vashel told them. “I wonder if we did something to life support when we cut the grid.”

“All of the buildings were equipped with back up generators,” Kirk said, stretching his neck. 

“If they didn’t kick in for main power, I’ll bet they didn’t for life support, either.”

“Wouldn’t something like that show up on the visor, though?” he asked, tapping his helmet. 

“These are strictly defensive combat suits, and they’re old,” Vashel told him. “Newer models have survival equipment built in, but these are very basic.”

“Well, shit,” Kirk muttered, wincing as another shot of pain drove through his head. “We need to get to the captives, ASAP.”

“Riyad, you’ve got him?” Vashel turned to the Ligonian, who nodded once. “Let’s go.”

Kirk pulled his phaser up in front of him, fighting the growing heaviness of his eyelids. He needed to stay absolutely aware. With only four people on the team, one of them out of commission being carried by another, a lot of responsibility weighed down on each of them to do their jobs right. 

They rounded another corner. A whizzing light scored a hole in the wall next to Kirk’s head. Vashel dispatched the figure, taking three shots instead of his usual one. His accuracy was off. 

“I see another junction box, eleven o’clock.”

Kirk saw it, too. With luck, it was the one that powered the shields around the inner portion of the compound. Another phaser blast nearly caught him in the side. Riyad fired and took the person down. Kirk ran to the power box. 

Withdrawing the laser scalpel again, he sawed through the cover and dropped it on the floor. Inside, the holographic display came to life. There was a back up generator somewhere that was still doing its job. 

He heard feet pounding on the metal grated floor and turned in time to leap aside, a smoldering burn on the wall just behind where he’d been standing before. 

“Take care of the shields! We’ll cover you,” Vashel said through the comm, stepping up to protect Kirk’s back. 

Panting, Kirk launched himself at the panel again and set to work destroying the code that held the shield in place. A loud PING! sounded right next to his ear, where a phaser blast burned the metal of the box. He flinched, but kept ripping up the code. 

Frustration had just begun to seep into his pulsing blood when he heard Lieutenant Uhura in his ear. “Shields are down! We’re beaming you up!”

He turned from the junction box and just as swirling golden light filled his vision, a powerful, agonizing burn scorched the side of his face. 

…

 

“We’ve got zem!” Chekov announced triumphantly from his station, working furiously over the buttons and display screen. 

“Security and medical personnel to transporter room now,” Spock instructed. 

“Sir, a small transport vessel is leaving the planet.”

“Intercept.” He turned to Uhura. “Please inform—”

Just as the tiny, escaping craft came into view, two photon torpedoes flared through the blackness. The little vessel exploded in a blazing ball of debris and fire. 

“It’s the Clarendon, sir,” an ensign to his right said. “She’s coming back around now.”

“Admiral Stuart,” he said shortly, bringing up the channel between the Enterprise and the Clarendon. “It was decided that the Enterprise would patrol this section to capture any surviving criminals.”

He could not help the hum of cold disapproval in his voice. The Clarendon flew closer until it was visible from the bridge window. 

“The Vulcans and Betazoids are recovered,” Stuart retorted calmly. “Now we go in and clean house.”

“Those people had the rights guaranteed to every Federation citizen; they should have been allowed a fair and public trial,” Spock told him. 

“Eh,” Stuart mumbled dismissively, “Don’t think about it too hard, Spock. Where’s your captain? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Captain Kirk has just returned to the Enterprise. I—”

“Kirk won’t be doing anything for a little while,” McCoy’s voice broke in from Uhura’s station. She frowned. “You’re Acting Captain for now, Mr. Spock.”

“Will zee captain be alright?” Chekov asked, looking concerned. 

“I think he’ll be fine,” McCoy replied. 

Spock paused for a second, waiting for the doctor to say more. When nothing else came, he reengaged Stuart’s line. “I believe you have just heard that Captain Kirk will be absent from duty for the foreseeable future. Until such a time that he is ready to return, I am Acting Captain of the Enterprise.”

“I see,” Stuart said. “Well. Send my men and the captives over when you can. We’ll discuss what happens from here in a little bit. Keep patrolling this area, Acting Captain.”

“Yes, sir,” Spock replied and cut the link. He maintained perfect composure, but his mind buzzed apprehensively. Kirk had clearly been injured. And it was bad enough that the doctor had removed him from service. McCoy had said he _thought_ Jim would be fine, but the uncertainty worried Spock. 

But there was nothing he could do. Worrying was, as he’d said before, an inefficient use of time and energy. He swallowed his concern and turned back to his responsibility. The best way he could help Kirk now was to command the ship with the dedication it deserved. 

…

Kirk woke to blinding, white light. When he winced, the sharp, deep pull of his flesh yanked a startled noise of pain from his throat. 

“Quit moaning,” McCoy muttered from somewhere very close by. 

“… the fuck?” Kirk mumbled, drawing in a halted breath at the pain in his cheek and jaw. 

“Phaser blast,” McCoy informed him. “Hit the wall just over your shoulder and barbequed the right side of your face. You’re now cooked to a very nice medium-rare.”

He couldn’t move anything without hurting. His skin felt like it wanted to grow legs and crawl off his face. 

“Nuuuunghhh,” he said in lieu of actual Standard. Fuck, it hurt!

“Very good,” McCoy replied flatly. “Nice to know our captain has such excellent command of modern language.”

Little pricks of acute pain flared up in the throbbing region that used to be the right side of his head. He tried to move away from it. 

“Hold still, you baby.” He felt the heat of McCoy’s breath on the tender flesh and jerked again. “I need to get the debris out before we can start regenerating.”

“Fuck,” Kirk uttered again, moving his lips as little as possible. 

What felt like hours later was probably more in the range of fifteen minutes. McCoy pulled back and set a metal dish on the side table. It made a little clink sound. And then he heard Bones stand up. 

He heard voices somewhere across the room. A child spoke. 

“Bones?” he said, his dry voice cracking. “We get ‘em?”

“You got them,” McCoy said, returning. “All of the women and children, and a few bad guys, too. Security put them in the brig.”

“Mmm.” Well. That was certainly a good thing, right?

“Lieutenant Kerns is going to be fine,” Bones continued. “Suffered a little blood loss and carbon monoxide poisoning, but he’ll make it.”

“Pois’ning?” Kirk mumbled. Was that why they’d all felt so fucked up down there?

“Yep. Levels were at 79 ppm by the time we pulled you out of there. I’m giving all of you extended oxygen therapy.”

A burning sensation tingled up the side of his face. “Nugh,” he protested weakly. 

“Hold still,” McCoy ordered again, pulling the regenerator closer. “Unless you want to look like a Batman villain for the rest of your life.”

It went on for several long minutes. Just as Kirk thought the searing pain would reduce him to tears, a nurse came over. 

“Doctor, we need you to look at T’Sal,” she said quietly in a peaceful tone. McCoy sighed and stood. 

“You take over the infant,” he instructed and left. Kirk blinked one eye open and looked imploringly up at the woman. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” he said in his most pitiful voice. She smiled and held up the dermal regenerator. 

“Sorry, Captain,” she said and held it over his face. 

“Be gentle, it’s my first time,” he said, resigning himself to a fate of horrible facial pain. She laughed and switched the device on. Evil witch. 

…

Almost four hours later, Spock finally found the time to visit the Med Bay. He kept his PADD close to monitor incoming communication from Starfleet Command. The door whispered open and he surveyed the injured crowd. Nurses – some having been pulled into overtime duty – poured over the former captives. Mothers and children sat on the same beds, never far from each other. On the opposite side of the large, round room, Spock spotted Dr. McCoy leaning over a figure sprawled dramatically on the sheets of a biobed. 

“Tell me, Doctor,” the figure said as Spock drew near, “will I ever be pretty again?”

McCoy snorted and turned to put something away. The overhead light exposed Captain Jim Kirk. 

“Oh, hey Spock,” Kirk said, watching the Vulcan approach. 

“Are you well, Captain?”

“Not on duty, Spock.”

“Jim,” he corrected. But he knew the answer already. Kirk was fine. He peered over to examine the right side of his captain’s face. “Is that a phaser burn?” 

“Yep,” McCoy answered. Despite Kirk’s happy smile – much smaller than his usual megawatt grins, but still a smile – Spock could not stomp out the horrible twist in his side at the thought of Jim so close to a fatal shot. It was a reminder of the danger they faced; a danger he could not ask Kirk to step away from, no matter how dreadfully his heart ached at the idea of travelling space without him. 

“I am glad you are well,” he said finally, pulling his gaze from the shiny new skin to look into Kirk’s eyes. 

“Thanks,” Jim said. “Much as I like tromping around with ex-soldiers, I think I like being on the Enterprise more.”

“Yeah, only because it’s a blow to your masculinity to be around ex-soldiers in the first place,” McCoy intoned from the other side of the bed as he sterilized medical implements. 

“Don’t make me kick you, Bones.”

“You couldn’t get outta that bed if you tried, pretty boy,” the doctor retorted. 

“I would be pleased to do the service for you, Captain,” Spock informed Kirk, who grinned at the offer. 

“See, Bones?” he said. “I have an attack Vulcan. Be very afraid.”

McCoy shook his head in exasperation. “Unbelievable.”

The doctor walked away to tend to a dehydrated Betazoid. Jim looked back at Spock. “I think we worry him.”

Spock raised a brow. He had come to the same conclusion. “I have a report to proofread,” he informed Kirk. “Would it bother you if I complete it here?”

Jim smiled and shook his head. “You can keep me company until Bones remembers he wants me in the oxygen room tonight. If I’m lucky, he’ll forget.”

He sat and unlocked a password-protected file on his PADD. “It is not wise to avoid necessary medical procedures, Captain.”

“Damn. I should know better by now than to think you’d help me get away from Bones.” Kirk rolled his eyes and settled back on into the pillow. 

“In most cases, avoiding Dr. McCoy is synonymous with avoiding medical treatment, and I would remind you that it is my duty as First Officer to see to the safety of the captain,” he shot Kirk a look, “at all times.”

“Alright, Mother Hen. I’ll sit tight and wait for Bones to haul me off for the night if you read me your report.”

“A finished copy will be ready for you tomorrow morning,” Spock protested. But Jim shook his head and shifted down further under the sheets. He turned on his side and closed his eyes. The pale, regrown skin on his face glistened under the bright light. 

“I want you to tell me,” he replied. He looked absolutely settled. Spock paused, then sighed quietly and opened his report draft. 

“Stardate 2259.58,” Spock began. He glanced up and saw Kirk’s eyes closed, a smile gracing his mouth. A warm, pleasant sensation rose up the back of his neck and he continued to read, pausing periodically when a very tired Jim asked him to repeat something. 

McCoy came over after he had finished reading and scanned Jim one more time. The human hid a yawn and blinked up at the doctor. “Go ‘way, Bones. Talking to Spock.”

“No, you’re pestering him with questions because you’re too stubborn to go to sleep,” McCoy retorted. “C’mon. Say goodnight and come with me. Oxygenation is good for you.”

“Hmm.” Kirk glared balefully at the glass oxygen enclosure. “Would it be too childish to say ‘don’t wanna’ and run back to my quarters now?”

“Yes,” Spock and McCoy said at the same time. 

“Fine,” Jim huffed. He rolled over and McCoy helped him stand. He didn’t relinquish the blanket, though, and dragged it off the bed with him. “’night, Spock. See you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, Jim.”

McCoy led him over to the enclosure. As he stood to leave, Spock heard Jim say, “Jeez, you’re acting more and more like a dad everyday. Is this where you surprise me and say, ‘Jim, I am your father’ and then cut off my hand?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s a classic, Bones. Pull up a screen. We’ll watch it tonight.”

With an invisible Vulcan smile, Spock exited the Med Bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm watching Into Darkness again tonight so I can get most of the dialogue right for the upcoming chapters. For those of you who follow my other work, I just posted another segment of the Stavik series. Happy Thanksgiving (a few days early) to any Americans out there.


	11. The Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby steps in the right direction. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Spock sat in deep meditation. His shields – the ones erected around his innermost thoughts – were not working. Every moment, he felt the need to be near Jim, to hear him speak, to know at all times where he was and if he was happy. 

These sentiments were not welcome. 

He studied the shields in his mind. There were no cracks, no fissures. With mental fingers, he stroked over the heavy walls and felt warmth emanating from within. 

Behind the safeguards, emotions raged. He frowned and opened a small window to inspect his wayward feelings. 

He was not prepared for the enveloping torrent of love, devotion, _need._ All around, light sparkled and glimmered like liquid sunlight, splashing over him and caressing his mind happily. 

And then he understood. What he felt today – fear, trepidation, relief, peace – was nothing compared to the depth of what lay behind the shields. Nothing he did would ever be able to fully block how he felt for his t’hy’la. And now that he was aware of the emotions, they seemed to only grow stronger. 

Instead of joy, he felt a pang of terrible sadness. 

He could not hide this, not from himself… not from Jim. If they ever touched, skin-to-skin, he did not know if he had the power to prevent a spontaneous bond from forming. It was simply too strong, this need to be connected with his captain, his friend. 

And he would not allow that to happen. He could not allow his lack of control to bind Jim in an eternal, unwelcome relationship. It was an invasion of privacy beyond psi-null comprehension. Vulcans who inflicted themselves on others were ostracized from society, left in the desert to seek death from heat and starvation. 

He could not do that to Jim. But he also could not hide from his feelings anymore. It was easier, he thought, to bear the weight of his emotions without concentrating on shields that did not fully function. 

An hour later, he rose from the mat on the floor and extinguished the candles. After removing his robe, he sank into the bed and closed his eyes. Blackness and stillness draped over the room. As he fell asleep, he played gently with the light in his mind and fell deeper in love, knowing he might never find true completion. 

…

 

Kirk dressed and headed for the bridge the next morning. Bones had dosed him with a sedative, which prevented him from having any embarrassing dreams while under medical observation. Admiral Stuart and Spock had arranged before the end of Gamma shift the previous day to send the Vulcans and Betazoids over to the Clarendon. So he snagged an apple from the Mess and made his way to the transporter room. 

The group of females huddled around the pad when he arrived. “We’ll send you over in groups,” he told them and separated the crowd into clusters of five or six. He slid into the seat behind the glass and operated the station himself. 

As the last group of five Betazoid women loaded onto the pad, Spock walked in and stood behind his chair. The females looked at them with deep sudden interest. Jim waved at them and the swirling light took them away. 

“Security is bringing the apprehended criminals now, Captain,” Spock told him. 

“Great.” He stretched fitfully. “Do we have new orders yet?”

“We have been assigned to explore and document an M-class planet called Nibiru,” the Vulcan replied. “At warp three, it is less than four hours from our current position.”

“Cool, I love it when things are easy,” Kirk said. “A nice, peaceful, exploratory mission for you to geek out over; it’ll be great.”

“I do not ‘geek out,’ Captain,” Spock corrected, giving him a look that said ‘ignorant human.’ Kirk grinned. “I am a scientist and I observe.”

“You totally geek out. That’s alright. When we get back to Earth, you can follow me into the antique bookstore on Epperson Street and observe the phenomenon known as ‘giddy Kirk.’”

“Why do I sense that Dr. McCoy came up with this name?” As he spoke, three redshirted security members escorted the four men who had been beamed up accidentally with the captive women and children. 

“Because he did.” Kirk nodded to the security team as they stepped back from the pad and he sent the criminals off to the Clarendon. He stood as the whirring sound of the transporter faded. “Bridge?”

Spock followed him out of the room. He felt the heat of the Vulcan’s body close to his as they passed crewmembers in the hall. It sent a hot tingle across his back and wondered for a moment if Spock was walking closer than usual on purpose. 

He shook off the stupid idea after a bare second. The hall was tight and couldn’t accommodate more than four people abreast at a time; Spock was merely using space efficiently, as always. 

It was a wonderful thing, Kirk thought as they loaded into the turbolift, that Vulcan telepathy needed skin contact and wasn’t as sensitive as Betazoid empathy. Otherwise, if Spock could hear his thoughts now, he’d be mortified. 

_Quit thinking about Spock and get your mind in the game,_ he chided himself. _You’re on duty._

He stepped onto the bridge and went straight to the chair. Chekov and Sulu bickered lightly in front of him. A lieutenant sitting to Sulu’s left chimed in. Almost everyone on the bridge turned to listen. 

“Problem, gentlemen?”

Sulu turned around, looking amused. “Pasha thinks Starfleet needs to recognize Russia Day by giving us all a day off.”

“And you have a problem with that?” he asked. Sulu might even be more type-A than Spock if he complained about a day off. 

“Well, what about Norwegian Constitution Day?” Ensign Caitlin Roberts asked, turning to face them. “It’s huge.”

“And Mardi Gras,” Uhura said. 

Sulu held up his hands. “If we’re going to get a day off for all national holidays, none of us would work at all.”

“You could approve it, Keptin,” Chekov told him, looking very bright-eyed. 

“Uh, yeah, no.” Kirk grinned. “Sorry, guys.”

Sulu looked satisfied. “Told you,” he said to the navigator. 

Chekov frowned at him. “If I ever get promoted, I vill declare ship-wide Russia Day and make borscht for zee whole crew.” 

Kirk chuckled. “None for me, thanks. I’m allergic to beets.”

The bridge crew quieted after a minute and began working. He leaned back in the chair and sighed, happy for a bit of peace after the events of the day before. 

“Patch me through to Admiral Stuart, please,” he said, thinking of his new orders. 

Uhura nodded and turned to her station to comply. Stuart appeared on the screen, hands folded over his chest. 

“Captain Kirk,” he greeted. “Good to see you on your feet.”

“Thank you, sir. Are the women and children settled in alright?”

The admiral nodded. “We’re leaving for Earth in the next ten minutes. They’ll be debriefed about the circumstances of their captivity there and on their way home in 24 hours.”

“Any leads yet on Eltran’s conspirators?” he asked. 

Stuart shook his head. “Not yet. Hopefully the women’s testimonies will help with that.”

“Sounds good, sir. We’ve received new orders to explore a planet, so we’ll be underway as soon as we’re dismissed.”

“Good, good. A private word before you go, Captain?”

“Sure,” Kirk hopped up from the chair. “You’ve got the conn, Spock. Don’t gang up with the party animals and stage a coup while I’m gone.”

“I shall endeavor to restrain myself, sir,” Spock said from his station. 

He entered the ready room a minute later and redirected the visual channel to the wall-mounted screen. Admiral Stuart appeared. 

“I like that Vulcan,” he told Kirk. “He’s quick. Any reason he’d like to hitch a ride with the Clarendon back to Starfleet Command with me?”

“Will all due respect, sir…” Kirk said as he leaned against the table, “get your own Vulcan. This one is taken.”

Stuart barked out a laugh that turned into a wheezing cough. He thumped his chest a few times, grinning. 

“What’s up, sir?” he asked once Stuart caught his breath again. 

“I wanted to let you know about a new mission on the table,” he said. “Starfleet is looking to begin a five-year voyage into uncharted space. I’d like to put your name forward for consideration, if you’re interested.”

Kirk blinked. “Absolutely, sir,” he said. A smile overtook his lips. “Sounds like an excellent opportunity; I’d love it. Thank you, Admiral.”

“It’s only a nomination, kid,” Stuart told him. “Half of the captains on roster have already submitted requests for it, so don’t get your britches in a bunch if someone with tenure gets chosen over you.”

“I understand, sir,” he replied, unable to quell the excitement. “Thanks again for the recommendation.”

“You deserve it, Captain.” The admiral offered a salute. Kirk responded immediately. “Take care.”

“Thanks, sir. You as well.”

And the screen went blank. Kirk smiled broadly to himself. A five-year mission. Into new areas of space. Holy shit, that was huge. He had to tell Spock. 

“Plot a course for Nibiru,” he said as soon as he exited the lift back onto the bridge. Chekov and Sulu hurried to comply.

“Course plotted, Captain.”

“Take us out, Mr. Sulu.”

He fell back into the captain’s chair and couldn’t help grinning again. Spock looked over at him questioningly. Kirk waved a hand dismissively. The Vulcan raised a brow, but turned back to his work. 

Hot damn. Stuart would vote for him; so would Pike. Nogura thought he was a brat and would probably request his demotion instead. Komack wasn’t much better. Strickler and Riker were the two unknowns. 

But the Enterprise _had_ to get the mission. _He_ had to get it. 

Five years. In space. With Spock. Nothing in the entire universe sounded as amazing as that. He grinned to himself and repeated it over and over again. 

Alpha shift flew by. At the end, as Lieutenant Commander Ferrara came to relieve him, he chased Spock into the turbolift, bouncing on his toes.

“You have been excited about something for the past seven point three hours.”

“Yep.”

He felt more than saw the eyebrow go up. 

“Chess?” he asked, exiting the lift. Spock followed. 

“Of course.”

They entered Kirk’s quarters and sat at the table. It was too early for tea, so Jim just helped set up the board and grinned. 

“New mission’s up for grabs,” he said at last. Spock, with the patience of a saint, merely looked at him and waited for him to explain. “Five-year voyage to explore the uncharted regions of space. Stuart’s putting my name forward for it.”

“Such a mission will be much fought over,” Spock observed, leaning forward over steepled fingers. “It is unlikely we will be chosen, given its duration and significance. The Admiralty is liable to select a more tenured captain and crew.”

“Spooock,” he groaned, dropping his head onto his forearms. He peeked up at the Vulcan. “Don’t ruin the mood. You have no idea if we’ll get chosen or not. A little optimism never killed anyone, you know.”

“I am unsure as to the effects of optimism on Vulcan physiology,” Spock said drily. “As such, for my health, I shall refrain until procuring a second opinion.”

Kirk propped his chin on his folded arms and reached for a pawn, smiling. Damn, he loved his Vulcan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I've been reading back through some old chapters to get a sense of where the story is and where it needs to go. Every time I find a typo, I kick myself. Mistakes drive me nuts - especially when they're silly and easily avoidable with good proofreading. If you guys find errors, please let me know. I seriously need a beta.


	12. These are the Voyages of the Starship Enterprise (aka the Largest Submarine Ever)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events on Nibiru.

Nibiru did not turn out to be a cakewalk, like Kirk had been hoping. Instead, the sole inhabitants – a pre-warp (pre-wheel) civilization – were about to be wiped off the face of the planet by the active volcano less than five miles from their settlement. 

After a grim-faced meeting with his senior staff, Kirk ordered the Enterprise into the atmosphere and under the water. They’d needed to wait until a shuttle could be propelled to the surface without the natives seeing – something Spock was especially firm on. It had taken several hours for that opportunity to present itself… very tense, very high-risk hours. With every second that passed, the volcano grew closer to blowing. In the morning, at last, he, McCoy, Spock, Sulu, and Uhura had boarded Shuttle 1, which would take them to the surface. As they’d loaded in, he’d caught a glimpse of his First Officer’s face. 

Fierce determination. Such as he hadn’t seen since the moments before Vulcan’s destruction. He knew exactly what was going through Spock’s mind: he couldn’t save his own planet – his own species – but he could prevent the destruction of this one. 

So they soared down through the ash cloud towards the beach a half-mile from the settlement. McCoy and Kirk donned long scraps of cloth replicated to look exactly like the natives’ garments and wrapped themselves up as best as possible. At the same time, Spock began strapping himself into an environmental suit. 

It chilled Jim’s blood to think about what was going to happen next. His First Officer – capable, reliable, lovable Spock – was going to launch himself into the heart of the volcano mere seconds before it could explode. 

So, so many things could go wrong. 

But he knew Spock needed to do this. The words ‘do you want me to go instead’ floated on his tongue, but he swallowed them. 

Now he needed to do his part. Jaw set, muscles tense, he leapt out of the still-hovering shuttlecraft and rolled on the course sand to his feet, McCoy – cursing – right on his heels. The shuttle peeled off, back into the clouds, and then they were gone. 

_Good luck, Spock._

…

“Here’s the plan,” Kirk panted to McCoy, who ran at his side. The ground was made up of hexagon shapes – a geological feature his First Officer would go giddy over if they had more time. “I’m going to draw them out. Spock needs to get into that volcano without the natives seeing him. And if it does erupt, we need them as far from the danger zone as possible.”

“How do we do that?” Bones shouted at him. They sprinted through the red foliage, getting smacked by branches and dense ground plants. Kirk barely felt it through the thick blue garb. Fuck, though, it was like running in a dress. 

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. But I need you ready if something goes wrong. We don’t want them seeing the shuttle, but we don’t want them capturing us, either.”

“So basically, there is no plan?”

Kirk managed to smile behind his face-covering. “Basically. See you in a bit, Bones.”

He broke off towards the settlement, only slowing when a large pyramid-like/beehive structure appeared. Red vines crept up to tangle around it. Streams and pools of water boiled with heat rising to the planet’s surface from deep below. An ominous black cloud billowed up from the mountain that shot up straight above him. 

Crouching low, he ran-crawled to the entrance of the structure, which was little more than a hole in the red vegetation. 

The humanoid-like beings spoke in high-pitched voices, chanting together. Their skin was painted white with some kind of clay-based material and each wore bright yellow cloth draped around their bodies. 

Kirk snuck in the back, gritting his teeth. He didn’t fit in. Blue, damn it. His robes were blue; he hoped to fuck these people didn’t notice and decide to take sudden offence at the invasive color scheme. 

They were too busy worshiping some kind of odd paper-like apparatus, gibbering away in some kind of prayer to it. He edged along the back, keeping low. If he had to bet, that thing was important to them. Important enough to chase if he… borrowed it. 

Breathing fast, he leapt over a kneeling figure and rolled, snagging the large scroll. He came to his feet and kept running. Sharp, high voices tittered and shouted in alarm. 

Sunlight bathed in thick ash hit his face as soon as he broke through the entrance. Panting, he pushed himself harder, glancing back at the pursuing figures. His hand sweated around the scroll. 

Kirk cleared a large patch of vines and stumbled back, yelling. A massive, fanged beast reared up. He saw teeth, claws, and leathery skin, and drew his phaser instinctively. One hasty blast later, it crumpled to the ground. 

His heart throbbed erratically. Just behind the fallen monster, a blue robed figure threw up his hands in exasperation. 

“Damn it man, that was our ride!” McCoy raged at him, throwing off his hood. “You just stunned our ride!”

Kirk tore off the covering on his face and looked down at the unconscious beast in utter vexation. “Ah, great,” he huffed. 

The angry horde of natives screamed behind him, closer than they had been before. Kirk took one look and bolted. “Run!” he yelled. McCoy snapped out of his shocked haze and tore after him, puffing. 

“What the hell did you take?” the doctor fussed behind him. 

“I have no idea!” he shouted back. The uneven ground jarred his ankles harshly; he fought to keep his balance as they fled. “But they were bowing to it.” 

Thinking fast and trying not to trip over his dress, he yanked his comm unit from a hidden pocket. “Kirk to Shuttle 1,” he panted, “Locals are out of the kill zone. You’re clear! Repeat, Spock get in there and neutralize the volcano and let’s get out of here!”

“Captain,” Spock replied, “did the indigenous life forms see you?”

“No, Mr. Spock,” he gasped. “They did not.”

“The Prime Directive clearly states there can be no direct interference with the development of alien civilizations.”

“I know what it says!” Kirk said, feeling this conversation was entirely unnecessary. “Which is why,” he panted, “I am running through the jungle wearing a disguise! Now drop off your super ice cube, and let’s go! Kirk out!”

A spear flew past his ear. McCoy cursed and wheezed behind him, right on his heels. The natives drew closer, shouting at them. “They’re trying to kill us!” Bones shouted, sounding frantic. “They’re trying to kill us, Jim!”

A few seconds later, his comm unit erupted back to life in his hand. “Captain,” came Sulu’s voice. “I’m ditching the shuttle. You’ve gotta to make it back to the Enterprise on your own.”

“Wonderful,” he said, ducking as another spear thwacked into the tree he’d just passed. 

“Wha—Jim!” Bones called. “Jim! The beach is that way!”

Ducking under a tree, Kirk reached up and jammed the scroll up into the branches. “I know; we’re not going to the beach!”

“Oh no, no, NO!”

They dodged through branches and vines. Kirk brought his arms up to keep the sharp foliage from attacking his face. Behind them, a dozen natives crashed to their knees before the scroll; the receding sound of the mob barely registered as they ran hard.

“I hate this!!!”

Kirk twisted and looked behind for a split second. “I know you do!” he shouted back. A patch of pale blue sky broke through the red forest. Beyond, the thunderous sound of the ocean flooded over the crashing of the indigenous people behind them. The cliff drew closer and then they were out of ground to run on. 

Blue robes flying, they leapt, yelling. Air whooshed past, stealing his breath and jolting his heart up into his throat. For a split second, he relished in the rush of adrenalin and then they plunged into the water. 

The surf was warm. He had no way of knowing if the water was supposed to taste like sulfur on Nibiru or if the volcanic activity had begun to impact the ocean as well. After a moment of struggling, he untangled himself from the thick folds of the garment and brought a respirator to his mouth. Oxygen flooded his lungs and he fought to get his breathing back under control without sucking water in through his nose. Goggles were next. Once on his face, they immediately suctioned onto his skin and drained the water from his vision. 

Next to him, Bones twisted in the dark water until the fabric floated behind them. They kicked on the high velocity propellers attached to their suits and dove down into the blackness, bubbles surging around them. 

The lights of the Enterprise glowed like deep-sea bioluminescence, beautiful and glittering. An airlock opened in the primary-to-secondary support pylon. Once inside the tiny chamber, he reached up through the water and grasped a support bar in the ceiling. Immediately, the water dropped and drained around him, leaving him suspended by the bar, suddenly anchored down by gravity. Bones dropped to the floor, heaving and gasping for breath. 

He landed and ripped off his goggles just as the round hatch opened, revealing Scotty. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is to hide a starship on the bottom of the ocean? We’ve been down here since last night! The saltwater’s gonna ruin the—”

Dripping wet, heart still pumping madly, Kirk interrupted, “Scotty! Where’s Spock?”

Scott’s face fell in solemn concern. “Still in the volcano, sir.”

Kirk’s eyes widened, the excitement in his blood turning to ice. He breathed, then rushed past, leaving Scotty and Bones to sprint to keep up. They rushed onto the bridge, where a still-soaked Sulu sat at his station, clad neck-to-toe in a similar teal suit. 

“Keptin on zee bridge!” Chekov called out, sounding distracted as he studied his station fixedly. 

“Lieutenant!” Kirk called, turning to find Uhura, also in her suit. “Do we have an open channel to Mr. Spock?”

“The heat’s frying his comms, but we still have contact,” she said unsteadily, obviously struggling to maintain professionalism. He looked at her for a second, concerned, then turned back and slapped a hand on the communications unit in Sulu’s panel. 

“Spock!” he called. 

“I have activated the device, Captain,” Spock replied, voice low and resolute. He heard rumbling explosions in he background and felt a fresh shot of fear. “When the countdown is complete, the reaction should render the volcano inert.”

“Yeah, and that’s gonna render him inert,” Bones told them, coming forward. 

“Do we have use of the transporters?” Kirk asked, looking at his helmsman and navigator. 

“Negative, sir.”

“Not with zees magnetic fields.”

“I need to beam Spock back to this ship,” he said forcefully, “give me one way to do it.”

“Eh,” Chekov struggled for a second, shrugging as he spoke, “Maybe if we had a direct line of sight, if we went closer—”

“Hang on, man!” Scotty interrupted. “You’re talking about an _active volcano_. Sir! If that thing erupts, I cannae guarantee we can withstand the heat!”

“I don’t know if we can maintain that kind of altitude,” Sulu threw in. 

“Our shuttle was concealed by the ash cloud, but the Enterprise is too large,” Spock added, his comm coming in fuzzy from the heat. “If utilized in a rescue effort, if would be revealed to the indigenous species.”

“Spock, no one knows the rules better than you do, but _there has got to be an exception_.”

“None. Such action violates the Prime Directive.”

“Shut up, Spock,” Bones told him angrily, “We’re trying to save you, damn it!”

“Doctor,” Spock replied, in a tone that said McCoy should know better. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Kirk lost it and leaned over the panel, yelling, “Spock! We’re talking about your life!”

“The rule cannot be broken for any circ—mst—nces—” The channel broke down. Kirk spun and stepped towards Uhura. 

“Try to get him back online,” he ordered. She nodded and ran for her station. Chest throbbing under the pressure of his wildly beating heart, he breathed and commanded his emotions away, feeling control of the situation slip away from him. Where was his famous optimism now?

“Ninety seconds til detonation,” Chekov informed them lowly. He turned and stared at the screen, a full data readout of the volcano and Spock’s vitals overlaying the deep blue of the ocean water beyond. 

“If Spock were here and I were there, what would he do?” he asked McCoy, who frowned heavily at his side. 

After a second, the doctor said, “He’d let you die.”

The Vulcan was all about regulations and orders. But he wouldn’t leave Kirk to die. McCoy was wrong. And now his friend needed him more than ever; no way in hell was abandoning him even in the realm of acceptable. 

“Bring us out of the water,” he ordered Sulu in a dark tone. Even Scotty didn’t dare protest, wisely (and concernedly) keeping his mouth shut. McCoy remained at his side, tense. 

The impulse drive whirred to life, spinning water furiously around them. Slowly, the ship rose. The nacelles broke the surface first and slowly, the bulk of the hull followed, cascading waterfalls of water crashing down from the exterior. 

Sulu spun the ship around and then they were headed straight for the blackness of the volcano. Kirk’s eyes stayed glued to the fore window. Somewhere in that billowing hellmouth, Spock waited for death. But Kirk had every intention of getting there first.

…

Fiery pillars of lava erupted and boiled around the isolated rock on which Spock knelt. Flecks spat up from the roiling magma and hissed against the intensely hot material of his environmental suit. 

He spread his arms to accept fate. This was death. This fear and regret and loss – this is what his mother had felt. For an instant, he clung to that brief connection with her. And then, over the roar of the fire, he heard a familiar whooshing sound and experienced the weightlessness of the transporter. 

When the golden light faded, Spock stood, feeling stunned. A second later, the door whizzed open and Jim ran in, wearing a teal-colored wetsuit that looked painted on his body. 

“Spock!” he shouted. “You alright?”

Dr. McCoy came to a halt just behind him. 

“Captain, you let them see our ship,” he said. The dumbstruck feeling did not fade. He did not understand. 

“Ahh, he’s fine,” McCoy huffed, waving a hand and looking at Kirk in mild exacerbation. But Jim gave him a completely bewildered glance, as if he absolutely couldn’t comprehend what Spock was upset about. Just as the captain opened his mouth to speak, the transporter station’s comm beeped. “Bridge to the captain.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Kirk said. 

“Is Commander Spock on board, sir?” came Uhura’s voice again. 

“Safely and soundly,” Jim told her. 

“Please notify him that the device has successfully detonated.” Spock caught a wavering note of what sounded like worry, but could have been anger. 

Jim grinned, looking between Spock and the now silent station. “Hear that? Congratulations, Spock. You just saved the world.”

“You violated the Prime Directive,” Spock protested, feeling the stirrings of real anger. 

“Aw, c’mon Spock. They saw us – big deal!” 

“Captain!” He raised his voice. H never raised his voice. Kirk must have known this or seen his anger behind the helmet visor, because he turned to Dr. McCoy and the ensign manning the transporter station. 

“Give us the room, guys,” he instructed quietly. Then he turned back and crossed his arms, staring seriously back at Spock. “Did you just yell at me for saving your life?” 

Spock caught a dangerous note in his captain’s voice, but his own anger surpassed his need to pursue that any further. “The Prime Directive clearly states—”

“To hell with the directive,” Jim hissed, suddenly extremely fierce. He stepped closer and practically stood toe-to-toe with him. “Spock.”

He waited, watching the human struggle not to yell. Finally, Jim looked up at him with fiery eyes hotter than the lava from which he’d just escaped. 

“Don’t you dare ask me to make the choice between your life and a goddamn rule,” he uttered softly, angrily. “There is no choice, Spock.”

The captain turned and walked out. Spock watched the door close and felt no relief. There would be consequences. Not only for the people on the planet below, who – while alive – would never be the same. But also for them; Jim’s actions would bring the full force of Starfleet Command down on the vessel. 

But he knew his captain’s hand had been forced. He could not allow his dear friend to pay for a situation Spock himself had practically implemented. 

…

 

Stripped of the environmental suit, bones and muscles aching from the fall from Shuttle 1, Spock slowly made his way back to his quarters from the Med Bay. 

Dr. McCoy had been reserved. Somehow his anger bespoke more than his usual dramatic ire; this endeavor had affected them all in some way or another. 

He did not expect to see Jim leaning against the wall beside his door. As he drew near, the human looked up.

“Hey, Spock,” he said, sounding quieter than usual. His heart pulled at the softness of his captain’s tone. 

“Hello, Jim,” he replied, keying the door open. He ushered Jim in first and followed, the door hissing shut behind them. 

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for fussing at you,” Jim said right away, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You were doing your job and that wasn’t fair of me.”

“It is alright,” he replied. He was not used to this side of his captain and it disconcerted him. 

“What are you doing this evening?” Kirk asked. 

“I had planned on asking you for a game of chess,” he admitted. Though it had not occurred to him until that very minute, playing with Jim seemed like a very good idea. 

“Sure.” Jim smiled at last. Spock gestured to the table where he kept his board set at all times now. They sat and Jim took white. 

“Sulu briefed me on what happened with the shuttle,” the captain said, leaning to take one of Spock’s pawns. “You must have fallen at least 20 feet. You alright?”

“I fell approximately 7.096 meters,” Spock confirmed. “Except for severe bruising, I have no lasting injuries. I believe the suit’s exoskeleton performed its duty.”

Jim seemed to be content with that. 

At the end of their second game, Kirk shook his head when Spock asked for another rematch. “I need a shower and a nap. It’s amazing how much paperwork is involved in going back to Earth for a few weeks.”

He stood and Spock followed, going to see his captain to the door. As Jim stepped out into the hall, a massive _BANG!_ shook the Enterprise. 

Jim shouted in surprise, pitched off his feet. Spock saw his body slam sideways and threw out an arm to protect him from the bulkhead. In one instant, there was pain from the weight of Jim falling into him and then there was nothing but scalding heat. 

Warmth of an unspeakable kind radiated through his body, stealing his breath and coating every sensation until all went numb. His mind snapped. All at once, everything and nothing was clear. He could not think. There was just too much.

After the Enterprise ceased trembling, they both remained frozen against the bulkhead, fighting for breath. 

 

And then, in a blank white shock, Spock realized that his hand was trapped against Jim’s neck, the backs of his knuckles pressing into the human’s warm skin. The buzz of thoughts that clouded his mind under the intense press of heat – those thoughts were not his own. 

“What,” Kirk whispered hoarsely, swallowing, “was that?”

He seemed to be recovering faster than Spock. He fumbled with his belt for a second then flipped his communicator open with a trembling hand. 

“The fuck just happened?” he asked, too wrapped up in shock to mask his language. 

“Smoke from the volcano got into turbines six and seven,” Scotty replied. “It’s a five minute fix, Captain. Not to worry.”

Dazed, Jim almost didn’t reply. He nodded and then at the last minute seemed to realize that the engineer couldn’t see him. “’kay.”

He let his hand drop heavily to his side. His head fell back against the bulkhead and slipped a little so he could look at Spock. 

The Vulcan stared emptily at the other side of the hallway without seeing anything. He could not process what had just happened. 

“Spock.”

They had touched. The thoughts, the emotions – they came from his t’hy’la. His bondmate. 

“Spock.”

Jim was his bondmate. In the split second when the human fell, they touched. And now they were bonded. 

“SPOCK.”

His head turned jerkily. Jim looked at him. “You okay?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. Instead, his brain seemed to register that Jim needed a reply and he nodded blankly. 

“’kay.” The human gathered his strength and teetered to his feet, falling clumsily back to the ground once before he made it unsteadily into a semi-upright position. He looked about to offer a hand down to Spock, then thought better of it. “I don’t think I can pull you up without falling again,” he said honestly, blinking dazedly. “Fuck.”

Spock remained motionless. 

“Was that your telepathy?” Jim asked, swallowing again. 

Without knowing how to answer yet, Spock nodded again. A wonderful blanket of energy poured in from the bond, covering his mind so completely that he could barely see. 

“Alright.” Jim took a halting step in the direction of his rooms down the hall. Spock turned his head and watched him go. He needed to get up. 

But his brain did not understand why. This was the most blissful sensation he’d ever experienced in his entire life. Why did he need to move? Moving was not important. 

…

“I think I broke Spock,” Kirk mumbled to himself, leaning heavily against the wall of the shower as water beat down on his skin. 

A wonderful feeling had swept over his body in the hallway. It almost looked golden in his mind, which was ridiculous because he couldn’t visualize his brain any more than he could see it if he looked in the mirror. But it was a golden feeling. It rushed through like a wave – a massive, sticky wave, coating everything and numbing all sensations except for a bright, overwhelming joy. 

Spock. Spock had looked utterly stunned. He felt bad about leaving his First Officer there on the floor, but his mind still wasn’t working right. He hadn’t even thought to question the poor Vulcan more. His lips failed to function and his brain suddenly slaved just to string three words together. 

So that was telepathy. It couldn’t always be like that – it certainly hadn’t been like that with the Ambassador on Delta Vega. He and Spock had touched before – on the bridge, when the Vulcan attempted to strangle him to death and in the gym, when they sparred… but not since they became friends. Not a single touch since all of these feelings began to develop. 

Fuck, had Spock _seen?_ Did he feel all warm and gooey inside because his emotions got away from him? The Vulcan had looked so shocked… But maybe it was a side effect of whatever the hell had happened. He’d looked as completely dazed as Kirk felt; maybe the warmth and golden stuff came through because Spock had been taken by surprise and hadn’t had time to shield his mind. Emotions could have absolutely nothing to do with it, he said to his thumping heart, which was trying crawl its way into a cold hole in his gut at the thought of his feelings being exposed. 

He’d read that Vulcan telepathy was rarely used in everyday society. Only experienced adepts were considered capable of instigating and maintaining a mind meld without damaging either involved party. The book waited in his virtual library; as soon as he got out of the shower – as soon as he could see straight and think without feeling like cotton had been stuffed into his ears – he would go back and read it again. It would tell him whether or not this thing was normal. And if it didn’t, he had a certain ambassador friend who would. 

But when he left the shower, his body failed to carry him more than a few feet before he collapsed face first into his bed and fell asleep, the overpowering thing in his head lulling him into deep unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter for two reasons: first, because I wanted to and second, because I won't be able to update as quickly for a little while. I'm working on a final manuscript for publication (not fun writing, unless you really like medieval art history stuff) and that's my first priority right now. Sorry. :/
> 
> But to keep your wonderful minds occupied, I have some book recommendations! If you're into slash, but you appreciate a plot and building romance (not just smut - although there's plenty of that as well), I suggest checking out J.L. Langley. Her With/Without series and Sci-Regency series are both really, really good. (I actually found a Star Trek/Sci-Regency crossover once on livejournal.)
> 
> And thank you to everyone who offered to beta for me! You're very generous! Let me crank out the next few chapters so I know exactly where this is going and I'll be in contact.


	13. The Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the last chapter

Four hours had passed since the feelings in Spock’s head exploded open. He counted the minutes as they flew by, focusing on the shining link in his mind. It burned. 

He could feel his mate sleeping on the other side, emotionally exhausted and completely oblivious as to why. The bond was meant to be a channel. It should not be closed. He did not want it closed. But Spock recalled the shock of the moment when they collided against the bulkhead and knew it had been an accident. 

A bond required complete dedication from both ends, in turn providing complete awareness. It was not ethical that he could feel, hear, _know_ his mate in his entirety without the other’s permission. 

He sat on the edge of his bed. A shield could hurt Jim. That was not ethical either, nor acceptable. Pulling threads to him like a spider, he began weaving a loose, semi-permeable curtain in his mind. This way, his mate could maintain a degree of privacy. 

Inside, he balked at the idea of separation from the brilliant creature on the other side of his mind. But it was the right thing to do until Jim decided what he wished to do about the bond. 

A chill spread though his body. In the past weeks – months even – he had contemplated the possible repercussions of informing his captain of the sentiments he held. The situations had been purely hypothetical and irrelevant, since he’d never planned on sharing his feelings. Now he had no choice. 

As soon as he told Jim about the bond, the human would have the power to crush him with rejection. 

He gently tied the curtain in place in his mind, ensuring the bond could breathe by tearing a few holes. It would be enough, he hoped. Covering the precious light sent spears of loneliness through him. 

But until he had a response from his bondmate, it would hold. He had duties to attend to. Fretting about fate would do nothing to alter its course. So he moved to the terminal and opened a new file for the report to Starfleet Command. 

_Stardate 2259.60_  
First Officer Spock  
Mission Report No. 158 

_Regarding the events that transpired the away mission on M-Class planet, Nibiru…_

As he wrote, he directed all blame unto himself for violating the Prime Directive. His instincts screamed to protect his captain from the fallout that would occur. 

….

There was only one Alpha shift left before the Enterprise reached Earth. Spock watched Kirk go about his duties on the bridge, a quiet hum reaching him through the light barrier that kept his thoughts separate from his bondmate’s. So far, there had been no indication that the shield was affecting Jim at all. 

Currently, only an hour remained until the Enterprise would dock at the station in Earth’s orbit. He made a plan to invite his captain to dine with him once on the planet’s surface. Once alone with the human, he could attempt to explain the bond. It was not a discussion he looked forward to, but progress needed to be made. He settled into his resolve and turned back to his station, hoping for a single drop of Jim’s constant supply optimism. 

“Lieutenant, please contact Spacedock 1.”

“Right away, sir,” Uhura said. Seconds later, a female Welarian appeared, her furry face mild and cheerful. 

“Enterprise,” she greeted. “Welcome back.” 

“Thank you,” Kirk replied. “We’re about an hour out. Can we begin docking protocols?”

“Yes, Captain,” the female replied. “One moment, please.”

“Thanks.”

The rest of the shift passed with Kirk and the Welarian going back and forth, confirming and reconfirming systems checks. At last, as they hung just outside of the dock, she smiled and said, “Captain, you are clear to dock.”

“Sulu.”

“Got it, Captain,” Lieutenant Sulu replied. Thrusters fired up. Slowly, they inched into the docking space until massive clamps secured the Enterprise in place. 

“Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk,” Jim said in a ship-wide comm. “Groups one and two, you are clear to disembark. Try not to destroy the transporter room on your way out and have a safe shoreleave.”

Of course, it took another two hours before Alpha shift could leave the ship. Spock followed Kirk down the hall, Uhura bringing up the rear. Scotty appeared around the corner, looking a little flustered. 

“Captain!” he called when he caught sight of Kirk. “Have you seen these upgrades?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with them?”

Mr. Scott pushed a PADD under the captain’s nose, walking briskly beside them. “What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You cannae put a 23B-6 jump relay connection so close to the Aegis transmission center – it just isn’t right, sir! One small blip and it could throw off the dual-beam alignment. That’s just asking for trouble, sir.”

The engineer fussed the entire way to the transporter room. 

“Alight!” Kirk finally gave in after looking longingly at the transporter pad for a minute. “Alright. Here.”

He took the PADD and typed something before handing it back. “You have full authority over the upgrades. Just don’t blow up the ship, alright?”

“Thank you, Captain,” Scott sighed, taking the PADD. Without another word, he turned on his heel and went straight back out into the hallway, presumably on his way to Engineering. 

“Mr. Scott has declined to take shoreleave?” he asked, taking his place next to the captain on the transporter pad. 

“Psh,” Kirk scoffed. “This is his shoreleave. Energize.”

As soon as the golden light faded, Spock turned to the captain. “Jim.”

“Yeah, Spock?” They stood at a busy terminal in front of Starfleet Command. Spock caught a red flash out of the corner of his eye and they both turned to see Lieutenant Uhura stalk away from them, shoulders tight with anger. “What’s up with her?”

“I do not know.” Recounting the events on the shuttle, he had felt confident that the friendship between Nyota and himself had been restored to its full strength. She had smiled and patted the environmental suit fondly before he deployed into the volcano. That was the extent of their last personal interaction. 

“Anyway,” Kirk turned his attention back to Spock. “What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”

“Is your schedule free for this evening?”

“I promised Bones I would go drinking with him,” Kirk said. “Wanna come?”

Spock shook his head. “Negative. There is a matter of great importance that I desire to address. Such would be best undertaken in a quiet setting.”

“Can we talk tomorrow?” he asked. “Because I really did promise Bones and—”

“And you must uphold your commitments,” Spock finished. “Yes, we may speak tomorrow. Please send me the time that works best for you.”

“Will do.” 

…

Jim left to find Bones and let out the breath he’d been holding. Spock hadn’t seemed any different. At least the Vulcan was speaking to him; he didn’t know what he would do if whatever happened suddenly put a barrier up in their friendship. 

So clearly, what had happened yesterday and this strange, golden…. _thing_ weren’t going to hurt them. Except now Spock needed to tell him something ‘of great importance,’ whatever that meant. His insides gripped tight at the thought that Spock had seen the roiling emotions that had been building slowly over the last year. 

He breathed out a few more times, trying to regulate the jitteriness in his gut. Bones waited for him at a public transit stop two streets over. By the time he’d walked over, a cool smile plastered firmly on his face, the nervousness was under control. 

Whatever Spock had to say to him tomorrow, he’d just man up and take it. Even though it might crush him. 

Fuck that. He shook his head and slapped McCoy on the shoulder in greeting. They began the short walk to their favorite bar. Vulnerability wasn’t a characteristic of James T. Kirk. Just because he’d gone and fallen in love didn’t mean his balls had been sucked up and turned into ovaries. 

“God,” Bones groaned happily, sinking onto a barstool. “Whiskey, neat.”

“Same,” Kirk told the bartender. He leaned forward on his elbows and let the sounds of people talking and music wash over him. 

“Hey, Jim.” He looked up and saw Bones nodding pointedly across to the end of the bar. Following his gaze, he saw two gorgeous Caitians. Twins. Their tails flicked in interest. “Ladies!”

Jim looked down into his drink. The easiest way to get over Spock – and he had to get over it – now stared in his direction. At McCoy’s beckon, they sashayed over. 

“You’re Captain Kirk,” the one on the left purred. “I’m Talisha. This is Katania.”

He nodded in greeting. Bones proceeded to take over the conversation and flirted outrageously. He was happy to leave that to his friend. Less than a year ago, he would have hopped at the opportunity to take the lovely girls home. Now…

There was no interest. At all. 

“I’ve heard your ship is amazing, Captain,” Katania murmured, leaning into his side. She brushed a hand over his abdomen seductively. A kick of repulsion bubbled in his veins. 

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally, edging back against the bar slowly to remove himself from her. She didn’t seem to notice. 

After fifteen minutes, Bones had bought them all another round of drinks and the party was in full swing. Except for Kirk, who still hadn’t said more than ten whole sentences. 

“You’re friend isn’t being very fun,” Katania told the doctor and moved to cuddle up to him instead. 

“Price of being a starship captain,” McCoy covered smoothly. “Always preoccupied with something or other.”

But the meaningful look he gave Kirk said, ‘we’re going to talk about this.’ Jim shrugged and threw back another shot. 

McCoy and the twins ended up leaving together in the early hours of the morning. He actually managed to have a pretty good time. Getting drunk often had that effect. Having racked up an enormous bill, Jim called it a night. He paid and called for a cab. 

The alcohol pulled heavily on his eyelids. He reached his apartment, drunkenly messing up his passcode twice, and immediately headed for his couch, where he fell asleep on his face. 

…

 

Twenty minutes later, his comm unit buzzed to life. It had synced up with his home interface and blared obnoxious music through out the apartment. 

He flopped off the couch, blinking awake. The comm unit was on the kitchen island. That meant he actually had to move. Damn. “’lo?” he mumbled a second later, yawning into his arm, the comm on the island in front of him. 

“Mr. Kirk, Admiral Pike has scheduled a private meeting for today at 0900 hours; he requests your presence and that of your First Officer.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, sir. Have a nice day.”

Kirk slid the comm unit across the island’s sleek surface and stared out the window. Meeting with Pike. Could only mean one thing. 

The five-year mission. 

Grinning tiredly, he staggered off to the shower feeling triumphant. This was it. Maybe if he could convince Spock to put off their little chat, this day could turn into the best day ever. 

Protocol dictated that he wear The Uniform – quite possibly the only downside to this whole situation. It was a gray, stiff thing with square shoulders, forcing him to stand up straight. Worse, it came with the most hideous hat he’d ever seen. He was a starship captain – shouldn’t he be allowed to regulate his own uniform? It made him look like a 20th century railroad engineer, for crying out loud. Where was the dignity in that? 

Spock appeared to be waiting for him in the courtyard of Command HQ several hours later. The charcoal uniform added rigidity to his posture that made him look even more severe. But damn, the way it pulled across his chest… Once again, Kirk admitted to himself that his First Officer was one smoking hot Vulcan. Unfortunately, not even Spock could make the hat work. It looked ridiculous. 

“Hey, Spock!” he called. The wonderful feeling in his head twinkled as the Vulcan turned to face him. No matter how jittery he felt since the Hallway Incident (as he had decided to call it), he didn’t think he’d ever get tired to seeing Spock. 

And there was yet another reason why he needed to get over these feelings – so he could just feel happy again whenever he was around the Vulcan and not just awkwardly happy/giddy. 

“Captain.” Spock turned to walk at his side and they headed for the building that housed Pike’s office. 

“You ready to get a new mission?” he asked excitedly. 

“A new mission? Are you referring to the five-year voyage?”

“Spock, I’m telling you, this is why he called! I can feel it!” 

“Your feeling aside, I consider it highly unlikely that we will be selected for the new program.” Spock did not look – or sound – as thoroughly confident or enthusiastic as he felt. One of these days, he would find a way to make the Vulcan smile. 

“But why else would Pike want to see us?” He spun around to face Spock, walking backwards. The sun caught in his eye, but he plowed on, undaunted. Nothing could make him put the stupid hat on, even if it could block the light. “Forget about seniority, they gave us the _newest ship in the fleet._ I mean, who else are they going to send?”

“I can think of numerous possibilities—”

“A five-year mission, Spock! That’s deep space; that’s uncharted territory. Think of how incredible that’s going to be!”

He pushed the door open, feeling like a king. A group of officers stood talking to their left. He smiled at them briefly before stepping into the lift, followed closely by Spock. 

Pike waited for them behind his desk. The Starfleet insignia proclaiming his rank was pinned to his chest, accompanied by four bronze stars on each shoulder. He didn’t get up when they walked in – which he’d kind of expected, given the leg pain Pike experienced on a daily basis – but he didn’t look up to greet them either. That was the first signal to Kirk that something was wrong. 

Spock moved to stand at attention, hat in one hand by his side. Kirk copied him, apprehension stealing his eagerness. 

…

“Uneventful.”

“Admiral.”

“That’s the way you described the survey of Nibiru in your captain’s log.”

Spock braced himself. He had known there would be repercussions.

“Ah, yes, sir, I didn’t want to waste your time going into details…”

“Tell me more about this volcano,” Admiral Pike instructed, dropping the PADD onto his desk. “Data says it was highly volatile. If it were to erupt, it would wipe out the planet.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t, sir.” His t’hy’la’s capacity to lie was unnerving. It would do him no favors here. 

“Something tells me it won’t.” Pike glanced at Spock. 

“Ah, well sir,” Kirk continued. “Volatile is all relative, maybe our data was off.”

“Or maybe it didn’t erupt because Mr. Spock detonated a cold fusion device inside it. Right after a civilization that’s barely invented the wheel happened to see a starship rising out of their ocean.” Admiral Pike rarely raised his voice, but he did so now. He looked more calmly at Spock and leaned back in his chair. “That is pretty much how you describe it, is it not?”

“Admiral—”

“You filed a report?” The quiet incomprehension in his voice was nothing to the look of disbelief in Jim’s face when he turned to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I incorrectly assumed that you would be truthful in your captain’s log.”

“Yeah, I would have been if I didn’t have to save your life.”

“A fact for which I am immeasurably grateful and the very reason I felt it necessary to take responsibility for the actions—”

“Responsibility,” Kirk scoffed, looking away. “Yeah, that’s funny. Yeah, that would be so noble if you weren’t also throwing me under the bus.”

“Gentlemen.” Pike stood, grabbing his cane from where it leaned against the desk. Spock looked at Kirk from the corner of his eye for a lingering moment before respectfully turning his attention back to the admiral. “Starfleet’s mandate is to explore and observe, not to interfere.”

“Had the mission gone according to plan, Admiral, the indigenous species would never have been aware of our interference.” At last, Spock saw an opportunity for a defense. For himself… mostly for his bondmate. 

“That’s a technicality.”

“I am Vulcan, sir, we embrace technicality.” Pike limped closer, standing right next to him. The proximity was clearly intended to assert stronger authority. He didn’t back down. 

“Are you giving me attitude, Spock?”

“I am expressing multiple attitudes simultaneously, sir. To which are you referring?”

“Out,” Pike said softly, nodding to the exit. He didn’t move. The admiral tried again. “You’re dismissed.”

Spock looked at him for a long second, turned to glance at his t’hy’la – who refused to look at him – and left. 

In he hall, he immediately proceeded to the men’s lavatory – the individual one, labeled for handicap usage – and locked the door. Out of sight, he allowed the hot betrayal flooding the bond to stream through him. 

Breathing in sharply, he fell back against the tiled wall. Anger, doubt… hurt. So, so much hurt. The emotions transformed into physical pain. No, t’hy’la… no. Please. 

But the bond shrank and trembled when he tried to reassure it. He could not reach through the tide of feelings of disloyalty to touch his bondmate. Jim was in so much pain. 

I did not do this to hurt you, t’hy’la. But no words went through. He leaned hard against the wall, shutting his eyes. Burning tears scalded his throat; he swallowed, but it did not help. 

He needed to fix this. Immediately. But seven minutes later, composed on the outside, but braced against heartbreak internally, he could not find Jim anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about italics v. regular script: when a character is having internal thoughts, I write in italics to separate those words from the rest of a paragraph. But I started a trend in my first Stavik fic that I really like. When Spock and Kirk speak through the bond, the text is styled regularly – indecipherable from the rest of a paragraph. I like the idea that the bond is so much a part of them that they can’t separate it from the rest of their actions or thoughts. I thought I could show that more accurately – maybe even on a deeper level – by embodying the text itself with that concept. I’ll try my best to make it very clear when someone is speaking through the bond and who it is.
> 
> I worked 12 hours straight on the manuscript and watched STID as a break. Five hours later, I had written four chapters for this story. So my plan of not writing for a while to focus on art history… totally failed.


	14. Dear Brother, Father is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That scene in the movie that made all of us cry… well the first scene, anyway. The second one made us weep. You know the two I'm talking about.

Pike had found him in a shabby bar where everyone knew him as Jim, not Captain Kirk, not the Son of Kelvin Hero, George Kirk. Just Jim. He’d been content to stay there all night, but Pike had been summoned to an emergency meeting, which included him now that he was a First Officer. Fuck. Commander Kirk. Commander Kirk was his mother. He was supposed to be Captain James T. Kirk and nothing else. Even the ambassador had said it was his destiny. Now what was he? An embarrassment, at the very least?

Feeling more than a little bitter, he buttoned the collar of his uniform, the wretched hat secured under his elbow, and walked into the lobby of HQ. 

“Captain.” There was no reason he should even acknowledge that voice anymore. But his anger took the shape of words and he couldn’t keep it in. 

“Not anymore, Spock,” he said without looking back. The Vulcan followed – he always did. “First Officer.”

He stepped into the lift and cursed his luck that Spock stepped in with him. “I was demoted, and you were reassigned.” 

A frown crossed the Vulcan’s face. Jim didn’t look at him any longer than he had to. “It is fortunate the consequences were not more severe,” Spock pointed out, still facing him. Kirk let his head fall forward, exhaling hard. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mumbled to himself. He had to spell it out, didn’t he? The fuck was this guy’s problem?

“Captain it was never my intention t—”

“Not Captain.” He turned and looked at Spock. His raging temper had ridden hard on his nerves all day. Weariness was the only thing keeping his manners in check; exploding took too much energy. “I saved your life, Spock. You wrote a report, I lost my ship.”

The lift doors didn’t open a moment too soon. “Commander.” Spock was right on his heels. “I see now that I should have alerted you to the fact that I submitted the report.”

“No, I am… familiar with your compulsion to follow the rules, but you see,” he finally halted and turned around to face his former First Officer, “I can’t do that. Where I come from, if someone saves your life, you don’t stab them in the back.”

Spock looked conflicted. “Vulcans cannot lie.”

“Then I’m talking to the half-human part of you, alright,” Kirk said softly. “Do you understand why I went back for you?”

“Commander Spock,” Captain Cabot interrupted and introduced himself. Kirk closed his eyes in silent frustration. “USS Bradbury. Guess you’re with me.”

Spock paused and looked at Kirk, then back at Cabot. “Yes, Captain.”

Cabot walked away. Kirk stood silently, sorely resigned and tired of it. “The truth is,” he said, swallowing back the pain and vowing one last attempt, “I’m gonna miss you.”

The Vulcan opened his mouth… but said nothing. Kirk groaned and rolled his eyes, leaving Spock to stare after him as he joined Admiral Pike at the table. 

The meeting began. Some guy named John Harrison had bombed the Kelvin Memorial Archive in London, an institution Kirk was familiar with – he and his mother had been invited to its opening along with other families who had lost people the day Nero came through the black hole. 

“This is a manhunt, pure and simple, so let’s get to work,” Admiral Marcus was saying. Kirk frowned and looked to his desk display. 

It didn’t make sense. An archive? Why blow up an archive? If Harrison had been powerful enough to convince a man to turn himself into a suicide bomber, surely he could have chosen a better target. And he worked for Starfleet; what was his motive?

He scrolled through the image, zooming in and manipulating the angle. At last he found Harrison, reaching for a black duffle back in the trunk of a demolished car. “What’s in the bag?”

“James, not now,” Pike whispered back. 

“It doesn’t seem odd to you that he’d target an archive?” he pushed. “It’s like bombing a—a library.”

“Chris.” Marcus stopped and looked at them. “Everything okay there?”

“Yes, sir,” Pike replied, folding his hands on the tabletop. “Mr. Kirk is just acclimating to his new position as First Officer.”

“You got something to say, Kirk, say it. Tomorrow it’s too late,” Marcus told him. The room grew awkwardly quiet. 

Suddenly aware that all eyes were on him, Kirk looked around. “I’m fine, sir. My apologies.”

“Spit it out, son, don’t be shy.” Marcus looked down at his screen while addressing him, his voice slightly condescending. 

“I just—why the archive?” he asked, looking at the head of Starfleet. “All of that information is public record; if he really wanted to damage Starfleet… this could just be the beginning.”

“Beginning of what, Mr. Kirk?”

“Sir,” he said, knowing the admiral was growing tired of his interruption. “In the event of an attack, protocol mandates that senior command gather captains and first officers at Starfleet HQ, right here… in this room.”

By the time he finished, he was speaking more to himself. _Here in this room. Damn,_ he thought. He should have caught this before. He barely heard Spock agree with him all the way across the room. 

A pulsing, whirring sound began two seconds before a bright, red flare filled the room through the wall of windows. 

He stood. Blinding, white lights – like headlights – dropped into the bright red glow. They were headlights. It was a ship. 

“Clear the room!” he yelled. In the instant between one breath and the next, the windows exploded inward, throwing him to the floor. Screams filled the room, bright jets of white shooting outward as the light fixtures erupted. 

Flashes of green – phaser fire – blasted into the room. Blinking to clear his swimming vision, Kirk looked around. A woman shrieked and grabbed what used to be her leg, bleeding puddles onto the glass shard-covered floor. Security officers ran in, guns firing, but they weren’t doing any good. 

Taking a chance, he stood and raced across the room. He grabbed the assault cannon from a dead security officer and ducked into an offshoot of the conference room. Out of the way of the lights, he could see a single-person aircraft bobbing in front of the blown-out windows. 

Taking aim, he fired, holding firm against the recoil. The window exploded. He kept firing, but it wasn’t even scratching the ship’s exterior. The only vulnerability he saw was a small engine on the right side, under the wing. Dropping the useless weapon, he raced to the wall and opened a panel, yanking out a long length of fire hose. 

Sliding across the hall on his knees – ignoring the bite of shattered glass – he wrapped the hose around the gun. When it was secure, he rocketed the thing in the direction of the engine. 

It sucked the thing in, pulling yard after yard of hose in with it. At the end of the coil, Kirk looked back. The hose didn’t just come out – it pulled the wall with it. He had less than a second’s warning to duck before the entire compartment flew out of the wall and smashed into the ship. 

The engines died, sputtering and spewing sparks. It spiraled. For a moment, he thought he saw the figure inside. Glowing light filled the cockpit and then the person was gone. The ship went down, taking the side of the building with it. 

There were still people in the other part of the room. Leaving the wrecked window, he raced into where the conference table’s charred remains crumbled amidst bodies and rubble. Spock crouched – alive, the glowing light in his head breathed – over a body. 

When he drew near, everything else ceased to matter. It was Pike laying on the floor. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. 

He sank to his knees, staring in disbelief. Fingers trembling, he reached out to find a pulse, but there was none. Spock turned to face him, expression closed and remote; he looked to the Vulcan for some sign that this wasn’t real. But Spock looked back and it came rushing in. 

Pike was dead. 

 

…

 

Spock nursed the traumatized bond as best he could. But now, betrayal wasn’t the only thing that came through. Anger. Fear. Loss – such horrible loss. His mate had lost a father. Perhaps not by blood, but in every other sense of the word, Christopher Pike was the only parent Kirk had had left. Now the admiral was gone. 

He had planned on cornering Kirk after the meeting to explain the report, to fix what damage had been done to their relationship. If nothing else, then to make him see that he was sorry. 

But Jim’s anger and bitterness had formed a wall between them. Irrationally, the discussion had made Spock defensive. Concerned, determined, confused, and illogically irritated, he had been blindsided when Jim had admitted to missing him. 

For the second time, he let his bondmate down. 

Pike was gone. Spock’s flaws and actions came second now; Jim needed him, even if the human did not realize it. No matter how important the bond was, no matter how desperately he wanted to fix this void, he had other responsibilities. He could explain the bond and its ramifications later; doing so now would be incredibly selfish. Jim did not need him to add to the stress of the present situation. At this moment, Jim required a dedicated friend to help shoulder the weight of his vengeance. Spock understood that very well. 

So when Mr. Scott – who had left the Enterprise to join the investigation – called him, he put aside everything else and called his captain (because Jim would always be his captain, regardless of the rank Starfleet gave him). 

After speaking with the engineer and learning Harrison’s location, Kirk turned to go back to the HQ building; Spock followed. They walked into a security meeting, not bothering to apologize for interrupting. 

“Admiral, sir, he’s not on Earth. He’s on Qo’noS,” he said without pausing, “I request my command be reinstated and permission to go after him.”

Marcus dismissed the meeting. He led them over to a desk in the far corner, where a line of model starships graced the surface. He stayed back while Kirk and the Admiral spoke. 

Conversation turned along the lines of war. Spock listened, but every minute increased his apprehension. Admiral Marcus seemed absolutely certain the Klingons would launch an attack – a conclusion that lacked real evidence and logic. 

The existence of a Starfleet department dedicated to intelligence-gathering and weapons development set off warnings in his head. But he remained silent, the memory of Admiral Pike’s dying mind imprinted on his own. Marcus held the key to going after John Harrison. They needed his permission. 

“As part of our defensive strategy, Section 31 developed a new photon torpedo,” the admiral was saying. “Long range and untraceable, it would be invisible to Klingon sensors. I don’t want you hurt, but I wanna take him out. You park on the edge of the neutral zone, you lock onto Harrison’s position, you fire, you kill him, and you haul ass.”

“Permission to reinstate Mr. Spock as my First Officer,” Kirk requested. Surprised, Spock turned to look at his bondmate, shaken from his deep disapproval of the plan Marcus offered. 

“Granted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Look! I updated again! 
> 
> I've decided that I'm going to keep posting and I'll go back and correct typos later. If you leave me comments about typos that you find, give me about five words of context around the typos so that I can find them. mightymads, you rock. I'll probably do a huge proofread this weekend. I don't know if AO3 sends out emails when a chapter is updated, but if you get a ton of emails regarding this story, I apologize in advance for clogging up your inboxes. 
> 
> With the way things are going, this story should be finished by next weekend, latest. I have two more chapters to write (I'm thinking about an epilogue, so maybe three more chapters), making it 24 chapters long.


	15. The Interloper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue Dr. Carol Wallace/Marcus and a rather angst-ridden chapter.

10 hours and 21 minutes after the attack on Starfleet Headquarters, Spock found himself on board a shuttle that would take himself and other members of the senior crew to the Enterprise. 

“… now it’s my duty as ship’s doctor—”

“I’m fine, Bones,” came Kirk’s voice from outside in the shuttle terminal. He and Dr. McCoy conversed quietly for a moment. 43 seconds later, the captain fell into the aisle seat next to Spock, with one empty space between them. He dropped a folder onto the vacant seat. “Status report, Mr. Spock.”

Immediately, he registered the weariness in his captain’s voice. “The Enterprise should be ready for launch by the time we arrive,” he told the man, looking diligently for signs of strain. 

“Good.” Kirk breathed and picked up the folder again. “Good.” From the row behind, McCoy leaned forward to run scans on the tired-looking man. 

“Captain,” Spock tried, tentatively, “thank you. For requesting my reinstatement.”

Kirk nodded slightly. “You’re welcome.”

“As I am again your First Officer, it is now my duty to strongly object to our mission parameters,” he said. It was imperative that they focus on the irrationality of Admiral Marcus’s easy acceptance of war, in addition to the clear violation of Mr. Harrison’s rights by ordering his outright annihilation. 

“Of course it is,” Kirk replied sarcastically.

“There is no Starfleet regulation that condemns a man to die without a trial.” He watched intently as his captain looked up darkly, and continued, “Something you and Admiral Marcus are forgetting. Also, preemptively firing torpedoes at the Klingon homeworld goes against—”

“You yourself said the area is going to be uninhabited. There’s only going to be one casualtiy,” Kirk said. He returned his attention to the folder. “And in case you weren’t listening, our orders have nothing to do with Starfleet regulation.”

No. The mission was entirely personal. And while Spock would give his full effort in helping Kirk to find peace, starting a war with the Klingons would not bring justice or satisfaction to anyone. There was a great deal more at stake than a vendetta against John Harrison. 

“Wait, wait,” McCoy interrupted from behind. “We’re firing torpedoes at the Klingons?”

“Regulations aside,” Spock tried again, “these actions are morally wrong—”

“Regulations aside,” Kirk fired back, “pulling your ass out of a volcano was morally right. And I didn’t win any points for that.”

Frustration fed into the weak bond. 

“Whoa, Jim, calm down.”

“I’m not going to take ethics lessons from a robot,” he retorted. 

“Reverting to name-calling suggests you are being defensive and therefore find my opinion valid,” Spock told him, irritation rising again. His mate was being obstinate; regardless of what had happened in the past 24 hours, no captain could rightfully command a ship on such an important mission while emotionally compromised. Jim had taught him that. 

“I wasn’t asking for you opinion,” Kirk informed him. “Bones. Get that thing off my face.”

McCoy pulled back his hand, mumbling over the neuro-wave device. Breathing silently, Spock reigned in his impatience. “Captain,” he began more reasonably. “Our mission could start a war with the Klingons, and it is by its very definition immoral.”

Kirk didn’t look at him. “Perhaps you should take the requisite time to arrive at this conclusion for yourself,” Spock suggested. He could see the toll this was taking on his captain. It was time for this discussion to end. 

“Captain Kirk.”

They both looked up. A blonde woman smiled pleasantly at Kirk. “Science Officer Wallace,” she introduced. “I’ve been assigned to the Enterprise by Admiral Marcus. These are my transfer orders.”

Jim smiled at her. Spock’s insides clenched to see it. “You requested an additional Science Officer, Captain?”

“Wish I had,” Kirk told him. Another cold punch to his side, where his heart gripped painfully. Was the rift between them truly this deep?

“Lieutenant Carol Wallace,” Kirk read. “Doctorate in applied physics, specializing in advanced weaponry.”

“Impressive credentials,” Spock allowed. Wallace gave him an uncertain smile; clearly his attempt to hide his hostility was failing. “But redundant now that I am back aboard the Enterprise.”

He aimed this last part at Captain Kirk, who blithely dismissed him. “And yet, the more, the merrier. Have a seat, Doctor.”

Carol offered a brilliant smile. She folded gracefully into the seat between himself and the captain. Spock watched her suspiciously. 

The shuttle lifted off.

 

…

In engineering, as they exited the shuttle bay, Mr. Scott made an enormous racket protesting the torpedoes. 

“No, I’m not signing anything, now get these bloody things off my ship,” the engineer fussed. “Captain!”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, sir! I was just explaining to this gentleman that I cannae authorize any weapons on board this ship without first knowing what’s inside them.”

“Mr. Scott raises yet another point that leads—” he began, realizing that if Jim wouldn’t listen to him, perhaps his Chief Engineer would have more success. 

“Report to the bridge,” Kirk instructed, handing him the folder. 

“Yes, Captain.” 

He headed for the lift at the end of the hall. Through the bond, he felt Jim’s desperation, his loneliness. But the flow of awareness was weak. The light curtain he had erected for privacy had been torn away in the torrent of hot betrayal that began in Pike’s office. Even without the slim barrier, he could not feel his t’hy’la as he did before. 

The bond was falling apart before it could even begin. The realization shook him. He had tried to offer moral support and advice – as any First Officer should – and Kirk ignored him. His easy acceptance of Lieutenant Wallace represented a terrifying step in the wrong direction. Distressed, he paused the lift for a moment. The lights went dim. 

Jim was drifting away from him. Spock breathed deeply, soothing the trembling in his lungs. They would not be able to connect on a personal basis; the damage went too deep. If he could fix their relationship on a professional level first, perhaps his captain would accept him again as a friend. It was a start; it was all he could hope for. 

He activated the lift again and it opened onto the bridge. “Status report,” he requested immediately, stepping back into his role as First Officer. 

The different stations called back. Everything appeared ready except for Communications; Nyota had not yet reported to her position. The lift opened again and Lieutenant Sulu exited. “Flight checks complete, Commander.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sulu.”

…

 

“Captain, I’m so sorry about Admiral Pike.” Uhura followed him through the back of engineering. He stared straight ahead; the last thing he needed was an emotional interrogation from his Communications Officer. 

“We all are,” he told her. There were so many other things that needed to be done, not the least of which was finding a new Chief Engineer.

“Are you okay?” she asked, voice heavy with concern. 

“Fine,” he replied evenly. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

She stepped into the lift with him, copying his stance. Silence filled the tight space. He breathed and closed his eyes; he wasn’t being fair. Uhura was expressing compassion and he was giving her the cold shoulder. He crossed his arms uncomfortably. 

“Actually,” he confessed quietly, “Scotty just quit. And your ex is second-guessing me every chance he gets.”

He glanced over. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. I just sometimes wanna rip the f—bangs of his head. I dunno, maybe it’s me, I just—”

“It’s not you,” she informed him. He looked over at her again. This time she was the one staring at the lift doors. Tension rolled off her in tangible waves. 

“It’s not?” 

No response. He took in the set of her jaw and turned to face her. “Wait,” he said, realization dawning, “are you guys – are you guys fighting?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, sir,” she began, facing him. 

“Oh my god, what is that even like?” 

The doors opened. Spock stood there, hands behind his back, staring at them questioningly. Uhura lifted her head and walked past the Vulcan, ignoring him completely. Kirk followed her out. 

“Ears burning?” he asked his First Officer, feeling absolutely unapologetic. 

“Keptin on zee bridge!” Chekov announced. Sulu walked past him and nodded a respectful greeting. 

Kirk went straight to the young helmsman and leaned forward, bracing a hand on the back of the Russian’s chair. “Mr. Chekov,” he said, “you’ve been shadowing Mr. Scott. You are familiar with the engineering systems of this ship?”

“Affirmative, sir,” the young man replied tentatively. He’d clearly been spending too much time with Spock, too. 

“Good.” Chekov looked confused. “You’re my new Chief. Go put on a red shirt.”

He went back to the chair. Behind him, Chekov uttered, “Aye, Keptin.” He sounded a little overwhelmed. The lift doors hissed open and then closed again, marking the Ensign’s exit. Navigation Officer Darwin slid into his vacated seat. 

“Retract all moorings, Mr. Sulu,” he instructed. 

“Yes, sir.”

Loud, mechanical sounds echoed off the hull. Computerized voices announced each clamp’s release. At last, the Enterprise drifted free of the dock. 

“Lieutenant Uhura, open a shipwide channel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Chekov,” he said, hearing his own voice reverberate in the lift shaft behind the bridge. “How are we looking down there?”

“All systems nominal, Keptin,” came the reply. Chekov sounded a little surer of himself. Good. He needed all of his people at peak performance. 

“Copy that.”

“Warp awailable at your command.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Chekov.” He looked up at Mr. Sulu, who watched for his signal. “Alright, let’s ride.”

“Yes, sir.” The helmsman took them out. 

After a few seconds at warp, he looked over at Uhura. “Open the channel again.”

She flipped a switch over her head. “Channel open, sir.”

To her right, Spock had turned to look at him intently, an intense expression of focus written in the slant of his brows. 

…

 

“As most of you know, Christopher Pike, former captain of this ship… and our friend… is dead. The man who killed him has fled our system and is hiding out on the Klingon homeworld, where he assumes we are unwilling to go. We are on our way there now. Per Admiral Marcus, it is essential that our presence go undetected. Tensions between the Klingon Empire and the Federation have been high; any provocation could lead to all out war.”

Kirk paused. After a moment, as heads turned to see why he had stopped, the captain looked back at Spock. Their eyes met; Spock tried to feed resolve into the bond. No matter his captain’s decision, the weakness and powerlessness Jim felt at this moment needed mending. 

“I will personally lead a landing party to an abandoned city on the surface of Qo’noS,” he continued, “where we will capture the fugitive John Harrison and return him to Earth so he can face judgment for his actions.”

A surge of gratefulness soothed Spock’s anxiousness. Kirk paused again for a moment. “Alright. Let’s go get this sonofabitch. Kirk out.”

Breathing in deep relief, Spock stood and went to his captain’s shoulder. Jim had listened to him. It was a step – one Spock hadn’t anticipated, especially not so soon. He wrestled thoughts of encouragement and remained stoic, the image of professionalism. “Captain, I believe you have made the right decision.”

Kirk looked up at him. The lines of weariness on his face did not fit with the happy, excitable captain with whom he had become so intimately familiar. “If I can be of assistance, I would be happy to accompany you on the away team.”

“You?” Kirk drawled. “Happy?”

“I was simply attempting to use your vernacular to convey an idea,” Spock defended. A bleak smile crept onto Kirk’s face; it lightened Spock’s heart to see it. 

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” the captain said after a moment. He looked up at Spock in what could have been acknowledgement of the assistance, but was more likely a dismissal. He turned and went back to his station. Nyota pointedly ignored him. 

Two problems were now solved. Harrison would stand trial and for the time being, war with the Klingons had been diverted. His standing with Jim was… tentatively progressing in the right direction. He had chosen to adopt his bondmate’s perchance for optimism in this case. 

But new mysteries had arisen. First, Nyota’s anger with him. Second, the Enterprise’s sudden acquisition of a new Science Officer. Spock leaned over his station and entered his credentials, followed quickly by a search on Dr. Carol Wallace. 

What he found immediately solidified his distrust of the woman. Carol Wallace, weapons expert for Starfleet and doctor of applied physics, did not exist. 

…

Kirk sat in the chair, running his fingers over the buttons on the arm. Harrison would pay. Heavily. If it were to be the last thing he did in life, he’d make that motherfucker scream. Yes, Harrison would stand trial. But the state in which Kirk delivered him was never a part of the deal. 

Spock kept glancing over, concern written clearly on his face. Odd, how he used to love that he could read the Vulcan so well. Now… He’d been thinking – brooding, really – and it had sent him down a line he hadn’t considered before. 

Maybe Spock had glimpsed his thoughts in the hallway after Nibiru. Disgusted and put off by the flagrant unprofessionalism of the Kirk’s emotions, Spock had written a report that would see him punished and Spock reassigned. 

From the beginning, Spock had always been upfront with him – honest to a fault. And the tiny, battered feelings he harbored for his First Officer cried out feebly that he would never do something like that. But Vulcans were gods of subtlety and technicality. For fuck’s sake, Spock was the son of a diplomat – he knew more about evasion than Kirk ever would. Of course this was something Spock would do. Especially in the face of runaway emotions and uncaptainly behavior. 

Kirk hated to even acknowledge that he felt hurt by what had happened. Spock was his best friend, his brother. The first and only person who had ever given him hope for something more in life. More than anything, he needed that now. But Spock had torn him down. He shattered everything they’d built over the last year with a betrayal that still drove knives into Kirk’s chest. 

Worse than the professional kick in the face the Vulcan had given him was the kick in the heart. Spock saw his feelings… and rejected him. Even though he now thought knew why, that piece of him that had loved Spock – who was he kidding; he’d loved Spock with his entire being – didn’t understand. Like a lost child, he felt like he was drowning in disbelief and confusion. Most of all, he felt angry. 

Even after all of that, he couldn’t just fall out of love with a person. Spock was still Spock – witty, quick, solid, _infuriating_ – and that would never change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of bad about riding the angst cloud for the past few chapters, so I'm going to upload a few more chapters before I go to sleep tonight. I'm going to give you lots of fluff at the end, I promise. It'll make you sick, it's so fluffy.


	16. I Eat Klingons for Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing John Harrison

The cargo bay – a cavernous space lit brightly from within – bustled with crewmembers. First and foremost, the new torpedoes needed to be prepared for launch if circumstances called for action. 

And Spock knew that was exactly where he would find Dr. Marcus. 

The woman stood by a torpedo waiting for transport to the other side of the ship. Her blonde hair swung forward as she scanned the weapon. He stopped a meter a way to observe. 

“Mr. Spock,” she exclaimed when she turned and saw him. She offered a smile. “You startled me.”

“What are you doing, Doctor?” he asked. 

“Verifying the torpedo’s internal v—”

“You misunderstand,” he interrupted. “What are you doing on this ship? There is no record of you being assigned to the Enterprise.”

“Really? There must be some kind of mistake—”

“My conclusion as well, Dr. Marcus.” He stopped to observe the aftermath of his statement. Her charming smile fell and he continued. “Except that you have lied about your identity. Wallace is the surname of your mother. I can only assume that the Admiral is your father.”

She took a breath and stepped closer. Her intent was clearly to garner some kind of trust by initiating a personal connection through the use of space. Spock looked down at her without pity. “Mr. Spock,” she began softly. “I’m aware that I have no right to ask this of you, but please he cannot know that I’m—”

The ship gave a violate heave. Dr. Marcus fell sideways into the torpedo; he went to his knees beside her, thrown completely off balance. The deep sound of the warp core shutting down echoed through the cargo bay. 

When it was apparent that the ship had stabilized again, he pinned Dr. Marcus with a firm look, making the quick decision that she posed no immediate threat, and ran to the turbolift. 

“Alright, we better hop to it,” Kirk was saying as he came through. The captain turned. “Where’s Spock?”

“Here, Captain,” he said, striding to stand next to Nyota. 

“You’re coming with me to Qo’noS,” Kirk said. “Lieutenant, how’s your Klingon?”

“It’s rusty, but it’s good,” Uhura replied. 

“Good, you’re coming, too.” Kirk paused for a second, glancing between them. He stepped closer, brows dipped in a frown. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it? You two working together?”

“Absolutely not,” Uhura assured flatly, leveling a dismissive look at Spock. He watched her turn and leave, then looked back at his captain. 

“Unclear,” he said.

“I’ll meet you in the shuttle bay.” He nodded and left, following Uhura into the lift. 

“Lieutenant Uhura,” he said, then stopped to reconsider. She stared straight ahead, ignoring him. “Nyota. What is wrong?”

“You really want to do this now?” she asked angrily. He blinked. The lift doors opened and she stalked out. Silently, he followed. This was clearly something to be sorted out at another, more appropriate time. 

The cargo bay contained a section for confiscated goods, including clothes, weapons, and miscellaneous objects from a Knormian trade ship the Enterprise had intercepted earlier in the year. Uhura had no problem finding a disguise. While Spock fell into a common size range, the jacket he located hung more loosely around his arms than he was usually comfortable with. 

Shortly after he tied up a pair of black boots, Kirk joined them. Once fully outfitted, they made their way to a flat, saucer-shaped shuttle confiscated from a man named Mudd a month prior. He and Uhura proceeded into the shuttle; Kirk remained outside to speak with two security officers. 

Orange light from holographic displays clashed with the sharp, electric blue coming up from the floor when the engines kicked on. While the technology was dated, Spock had no trouble determining the location of the fugitive as they approached Qo’noS. 

“I am detecting a single lifesign in the Ketha province. Given the information provided by Mr. Scott, this is most likely John Harrison,” he told the captain. 

“Mr. Sulu, I think we found our man; you let him know we mean business,” Kirk instructed through an open channel back to the Enterprise’s bridge. 

“Aye, Captain.”

They plunged through the atmosphere. Dawn broke over the clouds, scattering light and shadows around the large structures of ruined buildings that soared above the landscape. 

“We will arrive at Harrison’s location in three minutes, Captain,” he said, checking again to confirm the criminal’s precise coordinates. “It is unlikely that he will come willingly. I calculate the odds of him attempting to kill us at 91.6%.”

“Fantastic,” Kirk replied drily. 

“Good thing you don’t care about dying,” Uhura intoned, so softly it seemed she spoke to herself. An awkward silence filled the compartment. 

“I am sorry, Lieutenant, I could not hear what you—” he began tactfully. 

“Oh, I didn’t say anything,” Uhura replied. Kirk sat quietly to his right, clearly trying to be invisible. After a second, she said, “Actually, I’d be happy to speak if you’d be willing to listen to me.”

“Guys,” Kirk interrupted. 

“Lieutenant, I would prefer to discuss this in private,” he said, hotly aware of the unprofessionalism of the current conversation. Given that he had no awareness of anything that he had done to incite the anger of his dear friend, the current direction of the discussion left him in a poor position. 

“You would prefer not to discuss this at all, that’s what you would—”

“Are you really going to do this right now?” Kirk asked. Spock barely heard him over Nyota, who continued to talk. 

“The things that never seem to require you’re undivided, full attention – I’m sorry Captain, two seconds,” Uhura promised, then launched back, “are your friends. At that volcano, you never gave a thought to us. What it would do to me if you died, Spock…”

…

Her words hit home. Kirk listened as Uhura’s voice broke and felt the bruise in his heart that hadn’t yet fully healed from when had he thought he would lose his Vulcan to the fire. 

“You didn’t feel anything,” she continued. “You didn’t care. And I’m not the only one who’s upset with you; the captain is, too.”

“What? No. No, no. Don’t drag me into this.” The feelings were too raw; no way did he want to make Spock more aware of his feelings than the Vulcan already was. Except… “She is right.”

“Your suggestion that I do not care about dying is incorrect.” Was that a quaver of real emotion he heard? “A sentient being’s optimal chance at maximizing their utility is a long and prosperous life.

“Great,” Uhura muttered. 

“Not exactly an apology, Spock,” he said. 

“You misunderstand,” Spock said more emphatically this time. Uhura had begun the discussion, but he turned his head towards Kirk. “It is true I chose not to feel anything upon realizing my own life was ending. As Admiral Pike was dying, I joined with his consciousness at the moment of his passing. Anger, confusion… loneliness… fear. I had experienced those feelings before, multiplied exponentially on the day my planet was destroyed. Such a feeling is something I choose never to experience again.”

Kirk swallowed. His heart dragged heavily in his chest. 

“You mistake my choice not to feel,” the Vulcan continued, “as a reflection of my not caring, while I assure you, the truth is precisely the opposite.”

A blast rocketed into the hull of the shuttle at that moment, flipping them all sideways. Uhura screamed in surprise. 

“What the hell was that?” Kirk asked the Enterprise, immediately back in captain-mode. 

“We are being pursued by a D4-class Klingon vessel,” Spock told him, elegant hands flying over his station. 

“I thought this sector was abandoned!”

“It must be a random patrol,” Uhura replied, sounding a little panicked. 

“Hold on!” he told them and took the shuttle down into the abandoned province. 

“This ship has no offensive capabilities,” Spock said as they swooped low under a crumbling arch. 

“It’s got us.” He tightened his grip on the manual steering column. “Give me all six fuel cells.”

“Aye, Captain.” 

The shuttle accelerated. The Klingon ships began firing, scorching blasts hitting left, right, and center until they had nowhere to go to escape the barrage. The tail end of one shot caught the back of the shuttle. “Gah! Damn it!”

“They’re closing fast; bearing 285.” 

Two massive towers appeared in front of them, a thin crevasse splitting the surface with only a few meters of space in between. “Alright, there! There! We can lose them there.”

“If you are suggesting we utilize the passage between the approaching structures, this ship will not fit.”

“Will fit,” he replied, staring ahead with sheer focus. 

“Captain, we will not fit—”

“Will fit. Will fit!” He flipped the shuttle sideways and gripped the steering so hard, his fingers went numb. Metal clanked and sparks flew as the shuttle bounced back and forth between the two buildings. They missed a jutting metal shard by a few scant feet. 

At last, they broke free, squeezing out from the structures like toothpaste from a tube. “Ah.” Blinking widely, Kirk gasped and allowed himself to breathe. “I told you we’d fit.”

“I am not sure that qualifies,” Spock told him darkly, not nearly as impressed as he should have been. 

“Any sign of them?” he asked. 

“No.” Uhura flicked a switch over her head. “Which worries me.”

“We lost them,” he concluded.

“Or they’re jamming our scanners,” she replied. 

“Or,” Kirk said firmly, “we lost them.”

But Uhura was right. No sooner had the words fallen from his mouth than three spotlights flared to life, singling them out in the foggy darkness. The D4-class ships hovered around their little shuttle; loud Klingon voices emitted from external amplifiers.

“They’re ordering us to land.” Uhura’s voice trembled, but she maintained composure. “Captain, they’re going to want to know why we’re here. And they’re going to torture us, question us, and they’re going to kill us.”

Kirk frowned in concentration. Three against one; he didn’t like those odds. “So we come out shooting.”

Uhura unbuckled from her seat and stood over him. He looked up into her face. “We’re out numbered, out gunned; there’s no way we survive if we attack first. You brought me here because I speak Klingon. Then let me speak Klingon.”  
Kirk breathed unsteadily, instincts screaming not to let her go. He was captain; he took the risks. But every good captain learned to delegate tasks based on skills. With a brief nod of acceptance, he operated the ship to land. Before they’d even hit the ground, the door lifted open. 

Uhura stepped out into the desolate ruins alone towards a platoon of Klingon soldiers. 

“This isn’t gonna work,” he said to Spock, who stood at his shoulder. They watched Uhura move forward, the interior of the shuttle bathed in tension. 

“It is our only logical option. If you interrupt her now, you will not only incur the wrath of the Klingons, but that of Lieutenant Uhura as well.”

Through the tiny window, they saw a massive Klingon step down to meet Uhura. He removed his helmet. Nerves buzzing, Kirk scrambled around the cramped space by the door and started pulling out weapons. 

“Lieutenant.” He handed Lieutenant Anderson a gun and passed one to Spock. 

“Thanks, Captain.”

The last one he kept for himself. Not a second after he returned to the window, the Klingon’s arm shot forward and he seized Uhura by the jaw. Ice water tipped into his veins; he immediately moved for the door, but Spock grabbed his sleeve and kept him back. 

Suddenly, shots rang out of nowhere. Huge blasts from an ion cannon took out three Klingons. Uhura fell to the ground and used the distraction to snatch a knife from the one that had grabbed her and stab him in the groin. 

Free from Spock, Kirk ran out firing. Spock and the security team followed close behind. A figure in black stood on a platform above, shooting into the mayhem. With fire coming from all sides, he didn’t know where the enemy was concentrated. It was a clusterfuck. He just kept shooting. 

In the chaos, they became separated. Kirk had no idea where the rest of his team was. One after another, Klingons leapt out at him. One came from behind and bashed him around the shoulders with the end of a bat’leth. He fired twice, hitting the ground and a metal ruin to his left. The Klingon swung hard and narrowly missed taking off his shoulder. 

Kirk backpedaled fast. He tripped. Just as the Klingon moved into an overhead strike, he aimed and fired. The Klingon crumbled to the dirt. 

He pushed up, panting hard, and ducked behind a structure. When he turned to check the other direction, who Klingons ambushed him. He fell to the ground and curled to protect himself. Heavy boots kicked into his ribs and back. 

He saw a bat’leth coming straight for his neck when two consecutive shots blasted the pair back. Blinking through sweat and dust, he saw Uhura race towards him. Spock leapt over and grabbed his shoulder. They pulled him to his feet and together, the three of them hobbled to safety. Kirk immediately fell back against the metal shielding them. Uhura knelt at his side. 

They were weaponless. Spock seemed to realize that as well and ran out into the firefight to grab a disrupter from a fallen Klingon. Through the smoke, they watched the black-hooded figure jump down from the platform. The person fired until his weapon emptied, then attacked the remaining Klingons by hand. 

Swiftly, he dispatched three more, knifing two after that. The speed and accuracy took Kirk’s breath away. Who were they dealing with, exactly? When the Klingons were all dead, he came at them, a disrupter aimed at their heads. With one hand, the figure tore away the hood. It was John Harrison. 

“Stand down,” Spock ordered, standing between Harrison and Kirk. 

“How many torpedoes?”

“Stand down!” Harrison shot the gun out of Spock’s hands. A thrill of fear ripped through Kirk. 

“The torpedoes! The weapons you threatened me with in your message; how many are there?” Harrison barked. Spock looked back at Kirk, who never took his eyes off Harrison.

“72,” Spock answered. 

Immediately, Harrison threw down his gun. “I surrender.”

Stunned silence. The man had taken out an entire Klingon patrol single-handedly. He’d had a disrupter pointed at them when they’d been defenseless. Three against one, but the odds were undeniably in his favor. Kirk didn’t think the torpedoes were much of a threat against this guy; he seemed almost invincible. 

But he hadn’t come here to be awestruck by some criminal’s skills. He struggled to stand, pushing heavily off the structure. Spock stepped back a few paces and snatched up the gun Harrison had thrown away. On his feet, Kirk faced the man who’d killed his mentor. “On behalf of Christopher Pike – my friend – I accept your surrender.”

And the rage returned. The weariness that had haunted his aching bones since the death of Pike suddenly went up in flames. With a yell, he threw his whole body into a solid punch to Harrison’s face. The man stood and took it. That wasn’t acceptable. He punched again and again and again. Spock called out to stop him; Harrison – not flinching – mocked him. 

At last, his emotions gave out with his body. Trembling, empty of feeling, he turned and walked away. 

They loaded Harrison into the shuttle without comment. All the way back, Kirk remained silent. He kept a firm eye on the scanners for any Klingon ships in the area. But they made it back to the Enterprise without a hitch. 

In the shuttle bay, a two security teams took command of the prisoner. Kirk followed. “Bones,” he said into his communicator, “meet me in the brig.”

“Be right there.”

“Lieutenant.” He turned and stopped Uhura, who walked behind him. “Contact Starfleet, let them know we have Harrison in custody. And we’ll be on our way as soon as the warpcore is repaired.”

“Yes, sir.”

…

 

Kirk walked away. Spock moved to follow him, but Nyota halted and turned to face him. Silently, he looked down at her. After a brief inscrutable look, she stepped closer and hugged him around the middle. Then she stepped back and left. 

Both confused and relieved, he paused to watch her go. Then he turned to catch up with Kirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I could hit my father. We were just talking about who will direct Star Trek 3 now that Abrams has abandoned us for the enemy ship. My dad says, out of the blue, that Benedict Cumberbatch isn't manly enough to play a villain… GAAAHHHHHH!!!! How are we related?!?! 
> 
> If I don't update, it's because I've been arrested for manslaughter. In which case, I am depending on you to help me post bail. 
> 
> In other news, I'm eating some seriously delicious gingersnaps right now.


	17. Battle Stations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The majority of STID in one chapter. Go.

These had been perhaps the most eventful hours in the entirety of Spock’s life. 

Carol Marcus had become an asset. Dr. McCoy almost lost his life. There were 300-year-old cryogenically frozen people inside the torpedoes. John Harrison’s real name was Khan. The warp core had been sabotaged. And Admiral Marcus was allegedly responsible for it.

What appeared to be most intriguing – and unsettling – was that everything this Khan had told them turned out to be true and the real traitor was looking more and more like the head of Starfleet himself, Admiral Marcus. And yet, Spock did not trust the man in the brig. Khan, while honest up to this point, had done nothing to demonstrate his motive. Given his mental and physical strengths and his willingness to bring about destruction to anyone who got in his way, this man was not to be believed. 

And now, an unknown ship approached. Spock followed Kirk as they raced towards the bridge. The turbolift took them straight up. Spock went to his station as Kirk dropped into the chair. 

“ETA on the incoming ship.”

“Three seconds,” Sulu replied. Tension licked across the bridge; all stations held at the ready. 

“Shields,” Kirk said. 

“Aye, Captain.”

A flash of bright light preceded the hull of a colossal, black ship dropping out of warp. Spock recognized it as the model from Marcus’s desk. 

“They’re hailing us, sir,” Uhura said. The bridge was quiet enough that she did not have to raise her voice. 

“On screen,” Kirk instructed. “Broadcast shipwide, for the record.”

An incoming transmission flashed over the black ship. The face of Admiral Marcus came into view. 

“Captain Kirk,” he greeted. 

Kirk breathed silently. “Admiral Marcus,” he replied. “I wasn’t expecting you. That’s a hell of a ship you got there.”

“I wasn’t expecting to get word that you’d taken Harrison into custody in violation of your orders.”

Spock watched carefully, coming to stand over his captain’s shoulder. “Well, we, ah,” Kirk paused. “We had to improvise when our warp core un expectedly malfunctioned. But you already knew that, didn’t you, sir?”

“I don’t take your meaning,” Marcus replied dangerously. 

“Well, that’s why you’re here isn’t it?” he asked obligingly. “To assist with our repairs? Why else would the head of Starfleet personally come to the edge of the neutral zone?”

“Captain, they’re scanning our ship,” Sulu said softly. 

“Something I can help you find, sir?”

“Where is your prisoner, Kirk?” Marcus asked. 

“Per Starfleet regulation, I’m planning on returning Khan to Earth to stand trial.”

At that, Marcus’s eyebrows went up. The wrinkles on his forehead pushed into his receding hairline. “Well, shit.” He scratched his brow. “You talked to him. That’s exactly what I was hoping to spare you from.

“I took a tactical risk and I woke that bastard up believing that his superior intelligence could help us in protecting ourselves against whatever comes next.” Marcus took a deep breath. But I made a mistake. And now the blood of everybody he’s killed is on my hands. So I’m asking you – give him to me, so that I can end what I started.”

Kirk narrowed his eyes in thought. “And what exactly would you like for me to do with the rest of his crew, sir?”

Spock halted and stared at his captain. He had thought they were in agreement— but as he looked at Kirk’s face he saw his captain was playing devil’s advocate. 

“Fire them at the Klingons, end 72 lives, start a war in the process?” Kirk finished. 

“He put those people in those torpedoes. But I simply didn’t want to burden you with knowing what was inside of them. You saw what this man can do all by himself; can you imagine what would happen if we woke up the rest of his crew?

“What else did he tell you, that he’s a peacekeeper?” Marcus leaned forward now, growing agitated. “He’s playing you, son, don’t you see that? Khan and his crew were condemned to death as war criminals and now it’s our duty to carry that out before anyone else dies because of him.”

Spock moved closer. Kirk looked up at him and they shared a brief glance before Marcus launched back into it. “Now I’m gonna ask you again; one last time, son. Lower your shields. Tell me where he is.”

Kirk hesitated, then proceeded to tell the smoothest lie Spock had ever witnessed. “He’s in engineering, sir. But I’ll have him moved to the transporter room right away.”

“I’ll take it from here,” Marcus assured. And the transmission ended. Kirk sprang up from the chair. 

“Do not drop those shields, Mr. Sulu,” he ordered. 

“Captain, given your awareness of Khan’s true location in the Med Bay, may I know the details of your plan?” Spock asked at once. 

“I told Marcus we were bringing a fugitive back to Earth,” Kirk replied. “That’s what we’re going to do.”

He opened a channel to engineering. “Mr. Chekov, can we warp?”

A loud bang, followed by a rush of what could have been steam obscured the channel. 

“.. we run zee risk of seriously damaging zee core,” Chekov was saying, his voice covered by the sounds of construction in engineering. 

“Can we do it?” Kirk asked again. 

“Technically, yes, but I would not adwize it, Keptin.”

“Noted.”

“Mr. Sulu,” Kirk addressed, returning to the chair. “Set course for Earth. Punch it.”

They exploded into warp, streaking lines of stars and systems shooting past. “Lieutenant Uhura, contact Starfleet. Tell them we were pursued into the Neutral Zone by an unmarked Federation ship.”

Uhura flipped the switches over her head. “Comms are down, sir.”

A moment later, the door to the bridge hissed open. “Permission to come on the bridge,” Dr. Marcus panted, then ran straight to Kirk. Spock watched her closely. “He’s going to catch up with us and when he does, the only thing that’s going to stop him from destroying this ship is me. So you have to let me talk to him.”

“Carol, we’re at warp,” Kirk explained. “He can’t catch up with us.”

“Yes he can,” she replied. Spock’s blood went cold. “He’s been developing a ship that has advanced warp capabilities –”

“Captain,” Sulu interrupted. “I’m getting a reading I don’t understand.”

The ship trembled as something blasted into it. Then everything shook sideways and threw them all to the ground. The Enterprise spun out of warp. 

“Where are we?” Kirk gasped, climbing to his feet. The red alert siren blared through the ship. 

“237,000 kilometers from Earth,” Sulu replied immediately, sounding just as shaken as Spock felt. He carefully lifted himself from the floor and dropped into the seat at his station. 

“Damage report,” Kirk ordered. At once, ever station responded. It was a flurry of chaos. Even in absolute havoc and chaos, the bridge crew responded with absolute professionalism. 

Another series of blasts shook the ship. Uhura fell forward with a cry of pain. 

“Evasive maneuvers!” Kirk ordered. “Get us to Earth _right now!_ ”

“Captain, stop!” Dr. Marcus exclaimed, moving to intercept Kirk. “Stop! Listen to me!”

At last, Kirk stopped and stared at her. “Everyone on this ship is going to die if you don’t let me speak to him.”

Breathing heavily, Kirk looked at Communications. “Uhura, hail them.”

“Sir,” Dr. Marcus said through the opened audio line. “It’s me, it’s Carol.”

The blasts ceased. For a moment, there was nothing but the siren. And then Admiral Marcus’s face appeared. 

“What are you doing on that ship?” he asked slowly. 

“I heard what you said. That you made a mistake and now you’re doing everything you can to fix it. But Dad,” she implored, “I don’t believe that the man who raised me is capable of destroying a ship full of innocent people. And if I’m wrong about that, then you’re going to have to do it with me on board.”

“Actually, Carol, I won’t,” the admiral replied. 

Transporter rings began to envelope the doctor. She gasped softly in shock and tried to run away, but the other ship beamed her out of the bridge. The sound of her screaming faded as the golden light disappeared. Marcus glared at Kirk though the screen. “Captain Kirk, without authorization and in league with the fugitive John Harrison, you went rogue in enemy territory, leaving me no choice but to hunt you down and destroy you. Lock phasers.”

Kirk raced down the steps and back to the center of the bridge. “Wait, wait, wait, sir!” he called, holding out his hand as if to stop the transmission from ending. 

“I’ll make this quick,” Marcus said shortly. “Target all torpedoes on the Enterprise bridge.”

Spock moved to Uhura, who stood by the door to the bridge, staring in shocked horror at the screen. 

“Sir, my crew was just,” Kirk panted, “just following my orders. I take full responsibility for my actions, but they were mine and mine alone. If I transmit Khan’s location to you now, all that I ask is that you spare them… Please, sir… I’ll do anything you want. Just let them live.”

“That’s a hell of an apology,” Marcus replied lightly. “But if it’s any consolation, I was never going to spare your crew. Fire.”

The transmission ended. A horrible, stunned silence filled the bridge. Kirk turned slowly to face his crew. At last, when his eyes met Spock’s, Spock was struck again by how blue they were. How beautiful. 

“I’m sorry,” Kirk said. To the entirety of the crew, and to Spock. His heart gaped painfully in his side. Feelings of guilt and desperation yanked the bond open again. Forgiveness trickled in. He took a long strike towards his t’hy’la, opening his mouth to apologize for everything. 

“Their weapons are powered down,” Sulu said, breaking the silence. 

A look of confusion crossed Kirk’s face an instant before a voice came over the bridge. “Enterprise, can you hear me?” 

“Scotty!” Kirk shouted, turning back towards the screen. 

“Guess what I found behind Jupiter?” the engineer asked. 

“You’re on that ship!” the captain cried out in happiness. Hope flared powerfully through the bond, jolting Spock hard. 

“I snuck on and seeing as I’ve just committed an act of treason against a Starfleet admiral, I’d really like to get off this bloody ship. Now beam me out.”

“You’re a miracle worker,” Kirk replied, still grinning. “We’re a little low on power, just standby.”

“What do you mean ‘low on power?’ What happened to the Enterprise? Call you back!”

A snap closed the conversation. “Scotty!” Kirk tried. But the engineer was gone. 

Kirk turned and walked straight up the steps to Spock. “Our ship, how is she?”

“Our options are limited, Captain; we cannot fire and we cannot flee,” Spock replied. Behind the tactical thoughts whirring through his mind, the bond rejoiced. Our ship. _Ours._ He had his captain back. 

Kirk looked around, thinking. “There is one option,” he said lowly. “Uhura, when we get Scotty back, patch him through. Spock you have the conn.”

The captain turned and headed for the door that led into the turbolift. Immediately, Spock understood. He chased the human into the lift before the doors closed. “Captain, I strongly object,” he stated immediately. 

“To what?” Kirk asked, not facing him. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Since we cannot take the ship from the outside, the only way we can take it is from within. And as a large boarding party would be detected, it is optimal for you to take as few members of the crew as possible.” The lift doors open; Spock pursued Kirk into the hall, continuing. “You will meet resistance, requiring a personnel with advanced combat abilities and an innate knowledge of that ship. This indicates that you plan to align with Khan, the very man we were sent here to destroy.”

“I’m not aligning with him, I’m using him,” Kirk corrected firmly. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“An Arabic proverb attributed to a prince who was betrayed and decapitated by his own subjects,” Spock retorted. 

“Still. It’s a hell of a quote.”

This was not working. “I will go with you,” Spock said. 

“No,” Kirk responded immediately. “I need you on the bridge.”

“I cannot allow you to do this!” Spock grabbed Kirk’s shoulder and spun him around. They stared into each other’s faces for a moment, Spock desperate for anything to keep his captain away from Khan. “It is my function on board this ship to help you make the wisest decisions possible, something I firmly believe you are incapable of doing this moment.”

“You’re right!” Kirk cut him off forcefully, surprising both of them. They stood so close, Spock could feel the warmth of Kirk’s body. “What I’m about to do, it doesn’t make any sense, it’s not logical, it is a gut feeling. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I only know what I can do. The Enterprise and her crew need someone in that chair who knows what he’s doing. And that’s not me. It’s you, Spock.”

His eyes were so blue in that moment. Spock felt Kirk pulling away before the human even moved and knew that nothing could be done. His captain was right. And he had promised that whatever personal feelings he harbored would not interfere with this mission; Jim needed him on the bridge. So he would be on the bridge as his bondmate left the Enterprise with the most treacherous person they had ever met. 

After a long minute, Kirk turned and went down the hall, leaving Spock to stare after him. When the captain was out of sight, he returned to the bridge, hoping he had not just seen his t’hy’la for the last time. 

He stepped out of the lift and immediately went to Nyota. “Lieutenant, from our current position, is it possible to establish contact with New Vulcan?” 

She looked up at him, the same thought occurring in her mind. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.” 

The chair was empty – a metaphor he ignored because it threatened to rip at his heart. He sat. “Mr. Sulu, what is the status of the other ship?”

“Systems are still offline. I’m aligning our ship now.”

Two minutes later, the ships waited in perfect alignment, with the airlock containing Jim and Khan aimed directly at hanger port 101A on the USS Vengeance. “Captain, the ships are aligned.”

“Copy that,” Kirk confirmed. 

“Captain, before you launch, you should be aware there is a considerable debris field between our ships.”

“Spock, not now,” Kirk dismissed, speaking to Mr. Scott again. Dr. McCoy knelt down next to the chair. 

“Tell me this is gonna work,” he said. 

“I have neither the information nor the confidence to do so, Doctor,” he replied honestly. 

“Spock,” Kirk’s voice came again, “pull the trigger.”

Stomach unsettled by his captain’s phrasing, he complied. Less than a minute dragged out into what felt like hours. Kirk was off course already. Scotty wasn’t responding. The precarious position of this attack seemed to become more and more unstable. 

“Damn it,” Kirk muttered quietly. 

“Captain, what is it?” he asked, instantly on edge. 

“My helmet was hit,” he said. “Uhura, tell me you have Mr. Scott back.”

“Not yet,” she said, working furiously at her station. “I’m still working on getting his signal back. His communicator is working; I don’t know why he isn’t responding.”

The display lit up and flashed red around Khan’s signal. “Khan use evasive action, there is debris immediately ahead.”

“I see it.”

Suddenly, Khan’s signal terminated. 

“Mr. Sulu, did we lose Khan?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. I’m having trouble tracking him in all this debris.”

“Was Khan hit?” Kirk asked. 

“We are trying to find him now,” he replied. 

A few seconds later, Kirk’s voice came back. “Spock my display is dead; I’m flying blind.”

Fear bloomed, scratching at his resolve. “Captain, without your display compass, hitting your target destination is mathematically impossible.”

“Spock, when I get back, we really need to talk about your bedside manner.”

“Commander,” Sulu breathed, turning to look at him. “He’s not going to make it.”

In that instant, Khan’s indicator came back to life. He was 200 meters ahead of Kirk. 

“Scotty, we’re getting close,” Kirk said. “We need a warm welcome, do you copy? Do you copy? Scotty!”

“If you can hear us, Mr. Scott, open the door in ten… nine,” Spock began counting down. 

“1800 meters… 1600 meters…” the Teluvian manning the science station reported from his right. 

“Do you copy?” Kirk yelled. “Scotty, please!”

“Two… one.” Spock leaned forward, knuckles white. “Mr. Scott, open the door! Now!” At the last possible millisecond, as Spock prepared to hear the impact of his bondmate against the hull of the Vengeance, the door must have opened. 

“Welcome aboard,” he heard Scotty said feebly from the comms unit in Kirk’s helmet. Everyone on the bridge breathed in relief. 

“Commander, I have that transmission as requested,” Uhura told him. 

“On screen,” he said. “Please.”

“Standby.”

The pixels solidified over the darkness of space beyond into the face of his older counterpart. “Mr. Spock,” the ambassador greeted. 

“Mr. Spock,” he replied. “I will be brief. In your travels, did you ever encounter a man named Khan?”

“As you know I have made a vow never to give you information that could potentially alter your destiny,” the older Spock said, shaking his head. “Your path is yours to walk and yours alone. That being said. Khan Noonien Singh is the most dangerous adversary the Enterprise ever faced. He is brilliant, ruthless, and he will not hesitate to kill every single one of you.”

“Did you defeat him?” Spock asked softly.

“At great cost,” he replied. “Yes.”

“How?”

But the ambassador shook his head again. “That, I will not say. I will offer only this advice: do not underestimate him. If he desires something, and you are in his way, he will destroy you.”

Spock breathed, thinking. “Thank you,” he said at last and offered the ta’al. “Live long and prosper, Ambassador.”

The older Spock saluted in return and the transmission ended. “Lieutenant Commander,” he turned to Ferrara, who had come back on duty as Acting First Officer ten minutes ago. “Search Earth’s histories for records of Khan Noonien Singh. Send the results to my PADD.”

“Yes, sir.”

He stood and went directly to Uhura. “Lieutenant, assemble all senior medical and engineering staff in the weapons bay.”

“Dr. McCoy,” he turned to address the CMO, who stood near the door. “You inadvertently activated a torpedo; could you replicate the process?”

“Why the hell would I want to do that?” the doctor asked, looking at him as if questioning his mental state. 

“Can you or can you not?” he pressed impatiently. 

“Damn it man, I’m a doctor not a torpedo technician!”

“The fact that you are a doctor is precisely why I need you to listen very carefully,” he said, leaning close. Two minutes and five seconds later, McCoy and his entire staff swarmed the lifts going down to the weapons bay. Without Carol Marcus, avoiding catastrophe if something went wrong would be incredibly difficult. 

Timing was everything. If this would work, the torpedoes needed to be activated and moved within 30 seconds. As the Enterprise’s transporter had been disabled, the USS Vengeance needed to play into the strategy without being aware of the plan – a highly unstable variable. 

But Captain James Tiberius Kirk worked entirely on the most unstable of situations, again and again rising as the victor. This was the USS Enterprise and he was First Officer; replicating the famous luck of their captain fell into Spock’s hands now. 

His PADD dinged from where he’d left it on the science station. “Record of Khan for you, sir,” Ferrara reported. Very quickly, he accessed the file and read. 

Mass genocide, 1956 to 1982. Almost 23,000,000 deaths estimated; highest real estimate: 45,300,000 deaths. A dark sickness crept into Spock’s body. 

He moved around the front of the bridge, stopping in front of the helmsman. “Where is the captain, Mr. Sulu?”

“Our sensor array is down, sir, I can’t find him.”

Just as he finished speaking, a transmission lit up the view screen. Spock turned and saw Khan wrestle Kirk into the frame. Blood was smeared across the captain’s face. 

“I’m going to make this very simple for you,” Khan began. 

“Captain!” Spock felt fear and rage boil in his blood. He saw the phaser Khan held to the back of Kirk’s neck. 

“My crew for your crew.”

“You betrayed us.” Spock stepped forward, glaring so hard his facial muscles spasmed angrily. 

“Oh, you are smart, Mr. Spock,” Khan whispered with a mocking smirk. 

“Spock, don’t— Ah!” Khan pistol-whipped the captain and Kirk fell to the ground. Spock took a stride forward, worry pitching in his chest. 

“Give me my crew,” Khan said, a look of sincerity in his face. 

“And what will you do when you get them?”

“Continue the work we were doing before we were banished,” Khan said immediately. 

“Which as I understand it involves the mass genocide of any being you find to be less than superior,” he shot back, lips tightening in anger. 

“Shall I destroy you, Mr. Spock?” Khan asked. In the back of his mind, Spock counted down the seconds. “Or will you give me what I want?”

“We have no transporter capabilities.”

“Fortunately, mine are perfectly functional. Drop your shields.”

“If I do so, I have no guarantee that you will not destroy the Enterprise,” he said. Twenty-seven seconds. Twenty-six.

“Well then, let’s play this out logically, shall we Mr. Spock?” Khan asked, a nasty edge biting into his voice. “Firstly, I will kill your captain to demonstrate my resolve. Then, if yours holds, I will have no choice but to kill you and your entire crew.”

“If you destroy our ship, you will also destroy your own people.” Twenty. Nineteen. 

“Your crew requires oxygen, mine does not. I will target your life-support systems, located behind the aft nacelle. And after every single person aboard you ship suffocates, I will walk over your cold corpses to recover my people. Now… shall we begin?”

Spock saw for the first time the true face of Khan, an image of ice and death and fury, and he determined they had waited long enough. 

“Lower shields,” he instructed Sulu. 

“A wise choice Mr. Spock.” Khan stared into his face as he delivered a powerful kick to the captain, laying somewhere on the floor below the screen. Spock heard his grunt of pain and tensed even more. 

“I see the 72 torpedoes are still in their tubes,” Khan observed, leaning over the consol. “If they are not mine, Commander, I will know it.”

“Vulcans do not lie,” Spock said softly, the threat in his voice pulling at his lips cruelly. “The torpedoes are yours.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Khan said softly. 

“I have fulfilled your terms,” Spock reminded him. “Now fulfill mine.”

“Well, Kirk,” Khan said, leaning back in the chair in the middle of the Vengeance’s bridge. “Seems apt to return you to your crew. After all, no ship should go down without her captain.”

The siren cued up again as bright lights shone around the standing figures of Mr. Scott and Captain Kirk. 

“He’s locking phasers on us, sir,” Sulu reported. Spock returned to the chair just moments before massive impacts lit up the space around the Enterprise. The ship reeled. 

“Shields at 6%,” Sulu yelled, righting himself at his station. 

“The torpedoes!” Spock called. “How much time, Lieutenant?”

“12 seconds, sir!”

“Crew of the Enterprise,” Spock said over shipwide broadcast, “prepare for imminent proximity detonation.”

Low shudders took hold of the ship as explosions erupted along the body of the Vengeance. “Weapons have been knocked out,” Sulu said, turning in his chair. “Not bad, Commander.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Spock replied. 

Without warning, the lights cut out. Gravity pulled the Enterprise sideways. “Sir, central power grid is failing.”

“Switch to auxiliary power,” he ordered. 

“Auxiliary power failing, sir.”

“Commander, the ship’s caught in Earth’s gravity,” Sulu said, restating what Spock had already realized.

“Can we stop it?” he asked. 

“I can’t do anything, sir.”

Further explosions rocked the ship. “Lieutenant,” Spock instructed, “sound evacuation on all decks.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clinging hard to the arms of the captain’s chair, Spock surveyed the bridge. “As Acting Captain, I order you to abandon this ship. I will remain behind and divert all remaining power to life-support and shuttle bays.”

He activated the automatic safety harness on the chair. No one moved. “I order you to abandon this ship!”

“All due respect, Commander,” Sulu replied, the harness coming up and over the back of his chair. “But we’re not going anywhere.”

The entire bridge began tipping sideways. “Gravity systems are failing,” Spock said. “Hold on. Hold on!”

Cracks broke all over the interior space of the bridge, throwing debris over their heads. “Emergency power at 15% and dropping,” Officer Darwin reported, her voice strong over the sounds of the failing ship. 

The Enterprise drifted back up right for a moment and then tipped in the other direction. “Divert any remaining power to stabilizers,” Spock said. No one would make it off the ship if it continued to tilt. Even if any of the crew made it into the shuttles, getting out of the bay would be impossible. 

“Doing what I can, sir,” Sulu called back over the siren. “Doing what I can.”

“Core misaligned,” the Enterprise’s automated voice sounded below the noise and chaos. “Danger. Core misaligned.”

All hope died in Spock’s heart. The ship was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I think that's all I'll post for tonight. If you're upset because I left you hanging, go watch the movie and come up with extremely slashy captions and subtitles. 
> 
> Since this story is almost done, I'm starting to think about new story ideas. So far, I have several -- all of them really different and potentially very long. I will post the synopses on my profile over the course of the next week. If any of them look appealing to you, shoot me an email (my address is on the profile as well) and let me know what you think. 
> 
> As always, happy reading!


	18. I'm Breathing in the Chemicals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hands against the glass.

“The ship’s dead, sir,” Scotty told him, devastated. “She’s gone.”

Smoke and steam billowed from the overloaded conduits and adjoining terminals. The siren pulsed red light overhead. “Core misaligned. Danger.”

“No she’s not,” Kirk muttered. He ran through the core pylons, Scotty on his heels. 

“No! Jim, wait!” He darted around to where the door was. “If we go in there, we’ll die! Listen to me! The radiation will kill us!”

He leaned low and began coding in his captain’s override. “What the hell are you doing?” Scotty cried, trying to rip him away from the door. He pushed the smaller man away. 

“I’m opening the door,” he said resolutely. “I’m going in.”

“That door is there to stop us from being irradiated!” Scotty shouted. “We’d be dead before we made the climb!”

Kirk leaned back on his heels, breathing hard. “You’re not making the climb,” he muttered. Putting his whole shoulder into it, he turned and punched the Scotsman in the face. He collapsed. 

Kirk dragged him to a chair and remembered at the last second to activate the safety harness before throwing himself into the chamber. Red lights flooded the tunnel. He crawled, praying that the ship remained upright long enough for him to reach the core. At last, the dark tunnel ended and he pulled himself up through a small portal. Inside, he faced the bright white sanctum that housed the core itself. 

The air was dense. It clouded his lungs and pushed on every inch of his skin, squeezing his blood and organs. Panting, mouth dry, he climbed. The coils were wide enough to walk on; he pulled himself up, grasping at cables and ridges and anything he could find purchase on. 

His hands sweated and cracked open, dry as dirt, at the same time. His lungs filled wetly, but his lips split. Grunting and yelling with effort, he crawled upwards. His skin blazed like it was on fire. 

The dense feeling increased the higher he got until his muscles felt like jelly. He could barely force his fingers to contract, to make his arms move. More than anything he wanted to just stop and lay there. 

The ship tilted again and he threw himself sideways to catch the core’s central structure before gravity yanked him down. His eyes were so tired. With another yell of effort, he swung a leg over the rim.

There it was, two feet in front of his face. The bottom half of the core had been jammed down at an angle. Bright threads of energy sparked and danced over the two connections. 

Feeling his skin split across his spine, he reached up and wrapped numb hands around a metal ring that looped the upper half. Throwing the rest of his strength into it, he pulled up and stomped on the skewed junction. 

Nothing happened. Again and again, he hammered the unit with his feet. His thoughts turned to mush. Why was he doing this? It was too hard. It seemed so much better to just… lay down…

He stomped again. The lower half wobbled slightly. 

Maybe he could just go find Spock. And they could sit on the floor on the observation deck and hold hands. That seemed like the most wonderful idea. 

He shoved down again. It clanked loudly and the sound cleared his thoughts a little. The ship was failing; if he didn’t realign the core, everyone would die. So many people had already died…

But Spock was alive. And Bones, and Scotty. Breathing hard past the heaviness in his chest, he yanked upwards and slammed down with a harsh yell. 

The core slid back into position. A split second later, a massive light filled his vision and then he was flying. 

…

“Warpcore is back online!”

“Maximum thrusters, Mr. Sulu!” Spock ordered, holding onto the chair as they plummeted into Earth’s atmosphere. 

“Thrusters at maximum!” the Lieutenant shouted. “Standby! Standby!”

They dropped through a cloud layer. But after a second, they slowed. Painfully, painfully slowly, their decent halted… and the Enterprise began to rise, steadied at last. 

“Shields restored.”

“Commander, power online.”

“Mr. Spock,” Sulu turned, smiling broadly, “altitude stabilizing.”

Darwin turned also, her face a portrait of confused happiness. “It’s a miracle.”

Spock stared out over the bridge and beyond, to the taintless blue sky of Earth. “There are no such things,” he muttered, disengaging the safety harness. Through the bond, he felt Jim’s desperation, his relief…

“Engineering to Bridge. Mr. Spock?” Scotty’s voice came through the comm on the chair’s arm. 

“Mr. Scott.”

“Sir, you’d better get down here,” the engineer said. “Better hurry.”

… and he felt Jim’s pain. Spock shot from the chair and sprinted across the bridge, into the hall, the heart in his side constricting. He couldn’t breathe. 

No, my t’hy'la, he thought desperately at the beautiful creature on the other side of the bond. No. Hold on. Hold on, k’hat’n’dlawa. My dear one, hold on. No. 

The Enterprise had far too many halls. He raced through them, blind to the damage and the death around him, focused on the tunnel in his mind. The light at the other end was growing dimmer. 

At the engineering deck, he sprinted left, straight for the massive warpcore in the middle. Mr. Scott stood by the control panel. Spock stopped right in front of him, eyes burning in question. The engineer looked down and shook his head. 

Sick with wretchedness, he looked to the door of the warpcore chamber and ran the few steps over to it. His eyes stung. He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Open it,” he ordered the engineer. 

“The decontamination process is not complete,” Mr. Scott told him, voice thick with emotion. “You’d flood the whole compartment. The door’s locked, sir.”

Spock trembled as he knelt beside the glass. Behind it, sprawled against the chamber wall, his precious mate lay gasping. 

Kirk fell against the frame of the door. With one radiation-burnt hand, he reached up and closed the compartment’s rear hatch. Every pained breath he took jarred Spock’s body. Ki’sarlah, Ashayam. Taluhk nash-veh k’dular. T’hy’la… 

Voice broken, Spock did not speak. He fed every ounce of love he contained through the bond, reaching through to stroke Jim’s fragile mind. There was clarity, there. And knowledge that broke Spock’s heart into pieces. Pain dug its cruel claws in deeper; he felt Jim fight against it. 

His mate’s beautiful blue eyes opened. Jim seemed to notice he was not alone. You are never alone, Spock told him. I am here, precious one. My t’hy’la. 

“How’s our ship?” Jim asked, barely audible. 

Spock leaned forward until his bangs brushed the glass. “Out of danger,” Spock assured him. His voice was full of unshed tears. “You saved the crew.”

“You used what he wanted against him,” Jim said, blinking slowly. A small smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “That’s a nice move.”

“It is what you would have done,” Spock said softly. 

“And this,” Jim panted, “this is what you would have done. It was only logical.”

No. No, no, Spock thought. Logic offered serenity; there was no serenity in this. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words. Horrible, horrible sorrow poured into him. 

Jim looked up at him, the whites of his eyes inflamed. He gasped for breath. “I’m scared, Spock,” he admitted, working hard to speak now. Grief gripped Spock; a hoarse sob broke from his throat. “Help me not be… How do you choose not to feel?”

“I do not know,” Spock replied, speaking through a heaviness in his throat, trying to wrap himself around the consciousness of his mate, to hold him there forever. A hot tear welled over and fell on his cheek. “Right now, I am failing.”

“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die,” Jim said, looking up at him again and straining to keep his eyes open. “Why I went back for you…”

Spock bit back a cry of agony. His bondmate’s mind was full of regret, full of fear. He smoothed over the jagged edges of Jim’s chaotic thoughts and tried to bring peace. “Because you are my friend,” he finished for him, another tear following the first. Taluhk-veh t’hy’la, k’hat’n’dlawa. Ashayam… No. Please, do not leave me. Please. 

With the last of his strength, Jim pressed his hand against the glass. Lips trembling, tears falling, Spock copied. His fingers moved into the ta’al. Live long, t’hy’la, he begged, prosper…

And he knew that these were the last seconds his Jim had left. Jim’s fingers moved to echo the salute. I will not live without you, Spock whispered through the bond. How can I?

Jim struggled to speak, but he could not. Spock watched, helpless, more alone than ever, as his mate succumbed to the poisoning that pulsed insidiously through his veins. He could not even think to say goodbye. It hurt. 

Jim’s eyes slid upward and then sightlessly, he ceased breathing. His hand fell from the glass. The bond… vanished. 

Deep, eternally deep loneliness ricocheted through him. Spock knelt, staring through shocked, blurry eyes at the body that once housed the most vibrant force he’d ever met. Just like that, his bondmate – his everything – was… gone. Just gone. His mind grasped, weeping and lost, at the place where he used to be. 

He leaned over, lungs so tight he could not breathe, and gasped hard against the oncoming torrent of emotions. This was his fault. 

He should have stopped Jim from ever leaving the Enterprise, should have kept him safe, should have stood as a barrier between his t’hy’la and Khan, sh—

Khan. Rage, such as he had never felt, seized his body. He trembled with the force of it. Khan Noonien Singh. Spock shook, jaw clenching, fists tight. 

_Did you defeat him?_

_At great cost… yes._

Ripped apart by grief and sewn back together by fury, he locked onto that name. It built in his chest, enveloped the entirety of his being… “KHAAAAN!”

He shoved up from the floor and stalked past the shell-shocked figures of Uhura and Montgomery Scott. Consumed, he ran through the ship to the bridge. The USS Vengeance had just come down, crashing through San Francisco. The loss of life in those few seconds was nothing to the one Spock now missed more than his home planet. 

“Search the enemy ship for signs of life,” he spit, coming onto the bridge. 

“Sir, there’s no way anyone survived,” Sulu protested. 

Spock turned to face him, shaking with anger. “He could.” 

“Yes, sir.”

The scanners picked up a single life form. Sulu zeroed in on it and revealed Khan, struggling from the wreckage of the bridge. He leapt from the ruin. 

“Whoa!” Sulu exclaimed. “He just jumped 30 meters!”

“Can we beam him up?” Spock asked, lips tight with fury. 

“Zere’s too much damage, I have no incoming signals,” Chekov reported. “But it may be possible to beam you down, sir.”

Uhura appeared at his shoulder, her face wet with tears. “Go get him,” she whispered angrily. 

He ran to the transporter room, grabbing a phaser from a passing security officer. “Standby for coordinates,” he barked at the technician. 

Golden rings filled his vision. A breath later, he stood on a concrete veranda packed with terrified people. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a familiar figure fleeing down the street and sprinted after him. 

He chased Khan down a crowded sidewalk towards the Academy. When the man dashed into a glass-walled Starfleet building, he ran in after him. Khan threw himself into a glass door and it shattered. Tempered shards crunched under Spock’s feet. Down stairs, across a street, under a bridge, across another street, and another. Khan threw people out of his way; they went tumbling to the ground with cries of pain. 

Fuelled by anger and a thirst for vengeance, Spock didn’t care about anyone or anything except for the running figure in front of him. Khan went to the end of a sidewalk, where a large garbage collection vehicle rose up beside the railing. He jumped, clearing the top and looked back at Spock. 

Logic said the vehicle rose too fast, that the distance was too great for him to follow. He jumped anyway and caught a low-hanging fragment. Wind pushed him away, but he clung on and swung himself up.

Khan saw him immediately and stomped on his hand. The phaser fell from his grasp. Practically snarling, Khan grabbed him and threw him against the vehicle’s stabilizers. He landed and rolled in time to meet Khan’s next attack. 

Where Jim had not been able to hurt Khan before, Spock could. Vulcan strength put him on an almost-equal playing field and he wanted to cause as much pain as he could. Steam rose up around them, making it hard to see. Fire pumped through his blood, breath coming hard. He dodged a punch and knocked Khan sideways, then reached in for the man’s vulnerable shoulder. The Vulcan nerve pinch brought Khan to his knees, yelling in agony. 

Khan reached up and bent Spock’s arm back. He shouted in pain; Khan delivered two swift attacks and he fell back. A strong hand lifted him up by the throat and threw him across to the other side of the vehicle’s surface. 

Before he could get up, Khan planted his hands on either side of Spock’s face and pulled him up. His hands squeezed; Spock felt the bones of his skull contract, fine fissures shooting spikes of pain into his brain. 

He inched one hand up to the psi-points on Khan’s face. Focusing hard, he forced Khan to release him and he fell to his knees, this entire body searing with agony. 

As he staggered to his feet, he saw Khan leap off the back of the vessel. A second garbage barge accelerated below. Calculating velocity and trajectory, Spock threw himself off the front and barely caught the back end of the second vehicle.

But he was too disoriented by pain to fight back when Khan went for him again. Khan pulled him into a valley between the metal turbine housings and began hitting him. When he went to grab Spock’s skull again, he resisted too late. 

Cracking sounds popped in his ears. And then, disoriented, he thought he heard phaser fire. Khan released him and turned. Mind clearer, he saw the red of Nyota’s uniform. 

He could not bring Khan down with his fists. He turned and ripped the handle from the turbine casing. Staggering to his feet, he went and grabbed Khan’s shoulder, turning him to slam the metal into his face. 

Khan stumbled back. Spock grabbed his arm and yanked down, ripping it out of socket. Nyota cried in distress, but he ignored her and flipped Khan to the ground. Pinned, he began smashing his fists into Khan’s face. 

“Spock! Spock, stop! Stop! He’s our only chance to save Kirk!”

And the haze broke. He looked up into Nyota’s face, panting with rage. Seeing no lies in her expression, he looked back down at his enemy. 

He could save Jim. 

Spock pulled Khan up and knocked him unconscious with a final punch.


	19. By the Blood of an Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the perspective of a doctor.

Leonard McCoy, contrary to popular opinion, was not just an emotional Southern surgeon with a thing for metaphors. He was CMO for a reason. 

Starfleet Medical’s lab had been his home for the last 14 hours. Khan’s blood was like nothing he’d ever seen. While he’d been comfortable injecting it straight into the tribble, he wasn’t going to be nearly so cavalier with the life of his best friend. 

James T. Kirk remained in cryostasis, his body suspended in time. As long as his system remained as it was, there was a chance they could bring him back. But there was no doubting that Kirk had died in that chamber; his friend was already dead – a fact that weighed down like an anvil on his chest. 

As he worked on synthesizing a serum capable of reviving his friend, the rest of the senior crew took it upon themselves to fill the captain’s void. 

The Federation wanted to know why this had happened – why no one had seen or stopped Admiral Marcus before it had gotten this far. Clearly if it impacted the head of Starfleet so heavily, lower senior members must have known something. 

But Khan’s first attack on HQ had left Starfleet without the majority of its senior staff. Many admirals and captains had lost their lives; Kirk, Spock, and Marcus were three of only seven who had made it out without significant injury. 

And now Spock was facing a massive inquisition from the Federation’s High Council. Why had he gone through with Marcus’s orders, since they were clearly against regulation? Why had he not reported it? Did he understand the implications of his actions – did he respect the gravity of the situation?

In truth, they were just looking for someone to blame. So far, 354,221 people were confirmed dead; some 200,000-plus were still missing. The heart of Starfleet operations on Earth had just been taken out; more than three-quarters of Starfleet’s personnel who had been stationed on Earth were gone. 

They wanted answers. Spock, as the morally upright Acting Captain of the Federation’s flagship, seemed to be the perfect scapegoat. Mr. Sulu shouldered Spock’s responsibilities while the Vulcan sat in front of the panel. 

Chekov and Scotty oversaw operations on Enterprise, cleaning up the debris, making it safe. Uhura pushed and shoved and threatened bodily harm until a private shuttle company agreed to help ferry Enterprise crewmembers home to their families. All government transports had been shanghaied for rescue efforts. 

Kirk would be so proud of his people if he knew. His friend loved the Enterprise – considered the crew as his family. And they all needed him to come back. So McCoy kept working. 

It wasn’t until 0220 the next morning that he was comfortable enough with the serum to begin administering it. Kirk was transported to a quiet room on the top floor. He and Dr. Marcus, who was the only one knowledgeable enough about human cryogenics to assist, brought Jim out of the frozen state. 

As the transfusion began, he checked all of the machines and scanners a fourth time, just to be sure they were performing correctly. Dr. Marcus went aside and sent out a message to the senior bridge crew. 

Within seconds, a message from Spock came back. 

_I will leave immediately following the conclusion of the hearing in approximately 47.6 minutes._

“What’s the hobgoblin gonna do, stare at him?” McCoy grouched. “If he gets on my back about making this go any faster, I’m gonna stick him with the worst hypo I can get my hands on.”

“He’s been through the wringer,” Marcus protested. “Give the poor man a break.”

“He’s a Vulcan, he doesn’t need a break.”

Marcus nailed him with a hard look. McCoy rolled his eyes and went to check the equipment again. 

…

 

“He’s breathing,” McCoy reported over Spock’s shoulder. He had been standing silently next to Kirk’s bed for the last ten minutes. 

“It is more than we had hoped for,” Spock agreed. 

“He’s not going to pop up and say hi while you’re standing here,” the doctor fussed. “You might as well leave and get some rest before the Council grills your ass again tomorrow.”

“I do not wish to leave,” he said firmly. 

McCoy huffed and crossed his arms. “Fine.”

Spock came back the next evening, too. And the next. And the next. When McCoy returned on the fourth morning to find Spock occupying a chair against the wall of Kirk’s room, he lost it. 

“That’s it. Out,” he commanded. “Out. Out of my space. Go.”

Spock just looked at him. “That I am aware of, you have no grounds for ordering me to leave. 

“That I’m aware of, you have no reason to spend every second in here. He’s healing. That should be good enough for you,” McCoy said. “Now, go.”

“I will not.”

“Have you slept at all since we left for Qo’noS?” That was almost six days ago. 

“I have meditated.”

McCoy moved around and invaded Spock’s personal space. His eyes were bloodshot and slight green bruising around his neck and temples said he hadn’t even sought medical attention after the fight with Khan. 

“Sit still, you idiot,” McCoy growled. It was a testament to how tired Spock had to be that he didn’t even argue with the insult; he just sat there and blinked. 

A multipurpose regenerator sat on a surgical tray beside Kirk’s bed. He’d been using it to heal the radiation burns. He picked it up and switched it on, coming to kneel in front of Spock. 

The Vulcan’s hands were cut, as well; his knuckles scabbed over with green. “Stupid Vulcan,” McCoy grumbled, going over the bruises and scrapes with the regenerator. When he was finished, he stood. “Now, go home. Sleep. Consider that an order from your Chief Medical Officer.”

But Spock looked beyond, to where Kirk remained motionless in the early morning light. McCoy followed his gaze and paused. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going through that Vulcan mind of yours?”

Spock stayed silent. 

“Look,” McCoy said. “You’re spending too much time here. It isn’t healthy. Go home.”

“No,” Spock murmured. 

“Go home, or I’ll order a psych eval,” McCoy threatened. “It’s one thing to be concerned about a friend; it’s something else entirely to obsess over him, to the detriment of your own wellbeing.”

Spock finally looked up. “You have the luxury of being in a position that necessitates your close proximity to the captain,” he said quietly. “I am not so fortunate.”

Whoa. He lowered himself into the chair next to Spock. “What’s going on?” he asked. 

But Spock looked away. “Spock,” McCoy pushed. “You need to explain to me what’s happening between you and Jim.”

He was silent for a long moment. McCoy thought he wasn’t going to talk, but at the last second, Spock said, “We were bonded.”

 _Oh, fuck me,_ he thought. His brain came to a screeching halt. He looked over at the still figure in the bed. _Jim didn’t tell me. Why didn’t Jim tell me?_

“How—” He cleared his suddenly dry throat. “How long?”

“Eight days, four hours, and two minutes.”

 _Fuck. Why didn’t Jim_ tell _me?_

“I don’t get it,” he said at last. “You two… you’ve been dating? This whole time?”

“No.”

McCoy sighed in frustration. “You’re gonna have to treat me like a dumb human here, Spock. Start over. You’re bonded, but you weren’t together?”

“Correct,” Spock told him, still staring at Jim. He breathed sadly. “Jim and I… our minds are compatible on a very fundamental level. The bond was not intentional.”

McCoy blinked. “I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure you just told me you accidentally married the captain.”

“Essentially,” Spock said. “Yes. Jim was not aware of the bond.”

He frowned. So Jim hadn’t said anything… because he didn’t know. Vulcan mind voodoo at its greatest. 

“That’s—” _a huge violation of privacy_ , he’d been about to say, indignation for his friend building up. But then he got a look at Spock's face. He was so sad. 

If it had been an accident, then Spock clearly hadn’t expected his mind to get dragged into a bond, either. 

“You felt him die,” MeCoy said softly, realizing the implications of a telepathic connection. Spock looked down at the ground, brow furrowed, lips drawn tight. 

“Look,” he said, more gently this time. “You still need to sleep. Being a major name in Starfleet Medical gives me a few perks. I’ll get a nurse to set up the room next door as a visitor’s suite.”

Spock looked up, surprise and gratitude written across his face. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Eh,” McCoy huffed. He stood and straightened his whites. “Don’t get all mushy. I can’t handle an emotional Vulcan.”

Spock’s lip twitched. “Yes, Dr. McCoy.”


	20. Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised fluff. Here is the fluff.

It was 0921 hours on a Tuesday when McCoy finally brought Jim out of the coma. The readout of his vital signs spiked just before Jim’s eyes opened for the first time in two weeks. Spock never thought he would see that color blue ever again. 

McCoy moved forward. “Oh don’t be so melodramatic, you were barely dead.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, remembering quite clearly the doctor’s past two weeks of concern. 

“It was the transfusion that really took its toll,” McCoy was saying. “You were out cold for nearly two weeks.”

“Transfusion?” Jim asked. Even though McCoy and the nurses had confirmed that his brain function had been fully restored, Spock could not help the leap his heart gave upon hearing that voice again. 

“Your cells were heavily irradiated,” McCoy explained. “We had no choice.”

“Khan?”

“Once we caught him, I synthesized a serum from his super-blood. Tell me, are you feeling homicidal, power-mad, despotic?”

“No more than usual,” Jim said with a tired smile. Yet another thing Spock thought he had lost forever. “How’d you catch him?”

“I didn’t.” McCoy looked over his shoulder. Spock took the opportunity and stepped into Jim’s field of vision. 

“You saved my life,” Jim said quietly.

“Uhura and I had something to do with it, too, y’know,” McCoy said from the opposite side of the bed.

“You saved my life, Captain, and the lives of th—”

“Spock,” Jim shushed. “Just— thank you.”

“You are welcome, Jim.”

…

 

Bones left the room after a few minutes, giving Spock a pointed look on the way out that Kirk almost missed. What, did he think the Vulcan would give Kirk a heart attack if he was alone with him?

Spock turned from the door as soon as it closed and looked down at Jim, hands behind his back. “Jim, I wished to tell you the report I submitted following Nibiru—”

“Spock, don’t,” he sighed, closing his eyes. Damn, he was getting a headache. “It’s fine.”

“No,” Spock said gently, overriding him. “It is not fine. I wrote the report intending to protect you from any fallout by claiming all responsibility. It was not my intention to injure your career or our friendship.”

Kirk looked up at him intently… or as intently as he could, given that he felt like shit. Spock watched him carefully. “Please, accept my sincerest apology.”

“You’re serious?”

Spock looked away. “I understand if the action was too grievous to forgive.”

“What?” Kirk backpedaled. “No. So… it had nothing to do with what happened in the hallway just after we got back?”

Spock’s eyes widened in the most evident show of surprise Kirk had ever seen on the Vulcan’s face. “No. Of course not. I – ” He stopped and began again, softly. “What exactly do you believe happened in the hall?”

“I have no idea,” Kirk admitted, reeling a little. Had this all been a misunderstanding? They’d been tiptoeing around each other for no reason? But then… whatever that had been – the Hallway Incident, as he had named it – Spock had felt it, too. “Why don’t you tell me.”

Spock paused for a moment. He looked to be bracing himself for something. When he spoke at last, his voice was very quiet. “Jim… when we touched, following the events on Nibiru, a bond formed.”

“A bond?” he frowned. It sounded familiar. He thought hard – grateful that Spock seemed to know he needed a moment to process – and recalled the book he downloaded on Vulcan culture. “As in, a Vulcan bond? The permanent one? _That’s_ what that was?”

“Indeed.”

“Is that why I can feel golden lights in my head?” he asked and focused… and found nothing. He frowned and searched inwardly. There was nothing there. “Or at least I could… where did it go?”

Spock’s lips flattened tightly, his already lined brow furrowing deeper. With a tremor in his breath so slight, Kirk almost didn’t hear it, Spock said, “It was broken when you died.”

“But we just said it was permanent.” The headache was getting worse, growing little feelers into the base of his skull and around to his forehead. 

“A bond cannot survive the death of one telsu,” Spock explained softly. His eyes drifted down Kirk’s side to his hand, lying exposed on top of the sheets. 

He didn’t really know what to say. Formulating a response seemed to be beyond him. Spock sensed this. 

“You are tired. I do not wish to stress you,” he said softly. “You have only just woken.”

He looked down at him, eyes filled with a deep, deep sorrow. He lingered, as if he wanted to say something and then turned. 

“No, wait,” Kirk said. “Please.”

Spock looked down at him. “Yes?”

“Stay?” Kirk requested. He wasn’t used to this kind of emotion; it made him slightly uncomfortable. “Tell me about the bond.”

The Vulcan looked as if he might shatter. Jim didn’t think Spock could ever look fragile or vulnerable, but he did now. Summoning a semblance of control, Spock sat in the vacant chair by the head of the biobed and straightened. 

“Why did it form in the first place?” Kirk asked. 

“The bond was an automatic response to the compatibility of our minds,” Spock answered. His quiet voice filled the room, which had been bathed in a kind of sterile stillness since he woke. 

“Did you know that could happen?”

Spock thought for a moment, then said, “The occurrence of spontaneous bonding is rare… but it does happen. The specific type of bond is formed between t’hy’la, which means—”

“I know what it means,” Kirk interrupted softly, his eyes glued to Spock’s face. There was no direct Standard translation, but the closest was friend, brother… lover. The book had been very clear on t’hy’la – although, the author painted such a relationship as if it were some mythical fairytale. Apparently, it wasn’t. 

Spock didn’t offer a reply. He avoided Kirk’s gaze and looked down at Jim’s hand again. 

“Did you know it could happen to us?” 

Breathing deeply, Spock nodded once. “I anticipated that it might occur.”

Kirk didn’t know what to say. His brain felt kind of fuzzy, like it was overstuffed with cotton balls. If Spock knew the bond might form, then he knew they were t’hy’la. Which meant he knew their minds were compatible, which meant… what, exactly?

Spock took another steadying breath and, with his eyes looking anywhere but at Kirk’s face, he said, “James… Jim. When I watched you die, I was overcome by my greatest regret – that I never told you how I felt… how I feel.”

Kirk didn’t breathe. He stared at the Vulcan, who spoke so softly, it was barely a whisper. His strong, confident, solid First Officer was nowhere to be found. At this point, it looked like a breeze could knock him over. He pressed his lips tight together and waited; tension building unpleasantly in his chest. 

Breathing silently to suppress the shaking in his voice, Spock continued. “I do not know when it began. I do know that it cannot be stopped… and now, I know I would not wish for it to ever stop, no matter the pain it has caused me these past weeks.”

He looked up and met Kirk’s eyes. “Taluhk nash-veh k'dular… I cherish thee.”

Kirk couldn’t breathe. Absurdly, his first thought was that Bones would erupt back into the room and freak out at the two of them. And then, a stupid, nasty prickle of insecurity wound its way into his heart. 

He licked his dry lips. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Spock replied, just as softly, a shade of incredulity painted into his voice. “I have never been more certain.”

The hot, tight bruise that had been settled under his ribcage for months unfurled and bloomed into something so wonderful, he couldn’t stop the tired smile from splitting across his lips. He turned his head to press the side of his face into the pillow, closing his eyes. Fuck, this was so silly. He was a full-grown man, not a teenaged girl. But he couldn’t give a shit. Spock loved him. Holy Fuck with a capital F. Cheeks aching from the happy smile that refused to dim, he opened his eyes again. 

Spock stared at him, those beautiful brown eyes wide and open. 

“Hey, Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Love you, too.”

For an instant, Spock just stared. Then, incredibly, the most beautiful smile spread across his face. It lit up his eyes until he shone brilliantly in Kirk’s vision. They just stared at one another, happiness warming the air and filling his chest. Fuck, they were the two biggest morons on the Enterprise when it came to emotional crap and here they were being total saps. Good thing no one else was around. 

He turned his hand upward and stretched his fingers out in a silent request. 

Spock looked down at it and paused. “Jim… skin-to-skin contact will reinitiate the bond…”

“Okay.”

The Vulcan looked up, a worried line forming in his forehead. “The commitment of a Vulcan bond is eternal. While our first was spontaneous, it is not something to enter into lightly—”

“Spock,” Kirk interrupted. “I’m pretty sure I just asked you to marry me. Are you really about to shoot down a proposal from a guy who just woke up from being dead?”

Spock opened his mouth, a denial clearly on his tongue, and then shut it again, looking lost. 

“I didn’t think so.” Kirk raised a playfully bossy eyebrow and looked meaningfully down at his still outstretched hand. 

Carefully, Spock raised one hand and gently – very, very gently and slowly – touched his fingers to Kirk’s. 

Lightning. Sweet, rapturous lightning raced across his body. Tingles shot through his skin and his brain and _God_ there was Spock. Right there. 

He realized the light touch on his fingers had changed. Spock gripped his hand tightly in one of his, the other hand petting the skin not encompassed with loving, devotional caresses. His long fingers stroked over the back of Kirk’s knuckles, his wrist, the heel of his palm, and back again. 

Breathing shakily past the warm, euphoric sensation swelling in his heart and lungs, Kirk took in the sight of his Vulcan – his _bondmate,_ he thought, blown away at the idea. Of course, they’d been bondmates before, he just hadn’t known it. Spock’s eyes had fallen shut. His mind twisted around Kirk’s and hugged him close until he couldn’t tell if they were separate people anymore. 

He felt the reverence, the affection, and knew the crashing waves – hitting him over and over and over and over again until he drowned in the emotions – came from both of them. His mind rolled in the cascade of light and adoration, drunk on the sensation of pure love. 

…

 

Spock felt the moment when his mate’s mind gave way to his body’s needs. They had been holding onto each other – physically and mentally – for twenty-two minutes, basking in the renewed bond. 

Jim’s muscles were weak. The radiation had taken a heavy toll and Khan’s blood nearly killed him again. But his bondmate had returned to him and he vowed to help every step of the way until the human was fully recovered. Now, he took in the sight of his tired mate. 

Jim’s eyes were closed. A small, sleepy smile remained drawn across his lips. His hand rested lightly in Spock’s and his mind lazed peacefully against his own, too tired to do more than let Spock hold him close. 

He stroked his fingers lightly over Jim’s skin, gentle tingles shooting into his palms at the touch. Carefully, he extracted his hands and leaned forward to press a tender, lingering kiss to his mate’s forehead. He felt the pervasive ache of a migraine encroaching in Jim’s mind and soothed it away. 

He did not need touch to hold Jim now, though the feel of living skin under his hands continued to quiet the haunting trauma of watching his t’hy’la die. The bond – though once again new – was strong enough that he could feel the constant brush of his mate’s mind against his own. 

“Sleep, Ashayam,” he whispered against Jim’s skin, stroking the golden hair above his temple. “I cherish thee.”

Regretfully, he pulled away and moved towards the door. Stopping for a final look, he felt his heart clench in his side. Jim slept fitfully, bathed in light pouring in from the wall of windows. 

Satisfied that he could check on his bondmate at any time via the bond they once again shared, he left to return to the outside world and the reality of what faced Starfleet in the aftermath of Khan’s vengeance and Marcus’s betrayal.


	21. The Butcher's Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk finds out he's been sheltered.

Despite everything that was going on, his crew found time to come and see him. First it was Scotty, who yelled at him for the first ten minutes and then tried courageously not to cry during the rest of the visit. Uhura showed up with a basket of Gala apples, because she knew they were his favorites. 

Thankfully, they all knew him well enough to leave the frilly Get Well Soon cards and stuffed animals in the hospital shop. Chekov – still on Spacedock 1 with the Enterprise – sent a bottle of vodka, which Bones stole, claiming he needed it more than Kirk did. 

Spock brought him books. Real books from the shop on Epperson that he had mentioned once. Apparently the Vulcan had been staying in a long-term visitor’s suite across the hall, but Bones had forced him to leave after Kirk woke up. 

And Bones… Bone gave him a very harsh talking to. He should never risk his life again, next time he went and played with radioactive toys, Bones would let him rot, etc. etc. Most astoundingly, Bones apparently knew about the bond and wasn’t freaked out by it. Kirk felt that he and Spock had connected during his coma and they both knew something he didn’t. 

On his fourth day awake, he found out what. 

One of the nurses brought him a PADD so he could write a message to Spock. Instead, he hacked through the restrictions and found an online news source. 

‘VENGEANCE FOR SAN FRAN: WHO’S TO BLAME?’

‘DEATH TOLL RISES: 439,000 AND COUNTING’

‘KLINGONS SEEK ANSWERS FOR A SLAUGHTERED PATROL: STARFLEET UNABLE TO COMMENT’

‘ADMIRAL MARCUS AND CAPTAIN KIRK: THE REAL STORY’

More and more and more headlines came. They were calling it the Battle of Luna; apparently, the Enterprise had dropped out of warp somewhere along the orbit of the moon. Stomach dropping, he accessed a reel of pictures captioned, “Warning: Content may be shocking to some viewers. Discretion advised.”

San Francisco was in ruins. The black hull of the USS Vengeance towered above crumpled buildings. And then came the bodies. People in burned and bloody exercise sweats, men and women in torn suits, redshirted Academy cadets, charred skin… 

Sick, Kirk backed up and hacked official Starfleet channels, looking for the Enterprise roster. He had known some of his crew had to be dead; he watched many of them fall.

Loren Aadi, deceased.   
Kenzie Abaldon, deceased.   
F’ranal c’n Ad, deceased…

He scrolled, the grip on his heart clenching tighter and tighter with every name. 

Jim?

He stopped. A voice, in his head. Spock?

You are distressed. What is wrong?

Blinking, Kirk frowned. Are you in my mind? he asked. 

Yes. The bond allows communication, as long as we are in relatively close proximity. Is everything alright?

He shook his head. No, Spock. I’m not fucking alright. The Enterprise… so many people are dead. Did you try to keep this from me?

He felt Spock breathe carefully. It was the strangest sensation. When Spock spoke again, his voice was low and reasonable. Knowing – or not knowing – the condition of the Enterprise and the city of San Francisco will not do anything to aid your recovery. We sought to prevent stress—

How dare you? Kirk fired back. His forehead ached with how hard his brows were furrowed. Spock, these are my people. Damn you!

Jim. You will help no one if you tax yourself with worry or grief. Please, t’hy’la, be calm. 

Don’t tell me to be calm! 

A weird, cool sensation slid across his mind like a hand over water. It was kind of nice. 

Hey! Quit it! he growled. The sensation paused and then receded. 

Forgive me, Spock said softly. For a moment, there was quiet. He knew Spock was still there, though. It was a little bit like _feeling_ a shadow. And that made absolutely no sense at all, so he stopped analyzing. 

Jim. I understand your pain. Spock led him across the bond and into his own mind; he touched the deep ache Spock showed him. I grieve with thee. 

The sorrow in Spock’s voice cooled his temper. Of course Spock understood. Kirk sighed. I’m sorry. 

As am I. Do you need me?

No. It’s okay. Thanks, Spock. I’m sorry for flipping at you. 

Spock retreated from his mind with a fond caress. Kirk looked down at the PADD still grasped in his hands. He let his head fall back against the pillows. 

There was a button on the side of his bed to call in an orderly; he pressed it. A nurse appeared a few minutes later. 

“Can I get you something, Captain?”

“Sorry to bother you,” he said. “Any chance you could find me a pad of stationary and a pen?”

She nodded and backed out. When she returned, she carried a medium-sized box of unopened stationary with a cup of pens balanced on top. “I borrowed this from the Hospital Director; she says she’s sorry that she doesn’t have anything without the Starfleet Medical logo.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said, taking the box when she offered it to him. “My best to the director.”

The nurse left. He opened the box and pulled out a clean sheet of high quality, eco-synth paper that bore a faint, metallic watermark. After testing out the best pen on his hand, he began writing. 

…

Spock arrived at the same time he had for the past four days. Kirk saw the weariness in his face and put the letters aside. 

“Hey.”

“Good evening, Jim.” His eyes tracked to the letters. “What are you doing?”

“Writing to the families,” Kirk told him. “74 people, three more in critical condition.”

“Yes. Ms. Burns, Mr. Krychek, and Mr. Levi have all been moved here. They are on the second floor.” Spock gave him a suspicious look. “How did you learn all this information?”

Kirk leaned over and picked up the PADD on the side table. “One of the nurses. I gave her puppy eyes and she caved.”

“‘Puppy eyes?’”

Kirk slipped into the best adorable expression he had. Spock just looked at him. “I fail to see how relaxing the occipitofrontalis and levator labii superioris can be used as a persuasive tool.”

“That’s because Vulcans have faces carved out of stone,” Kirk told him. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one on the Enterprise actually capable of reading your expression… except for maybe Uhura.”

Spock tilted his head. “Puppy eyes. I shall consider this.”

“Um,” Kirk paused. “Please don’t. If you ever learned how to do it well, I don’t think I’d ever win an argument.”

“It is now imperative that I learn this skill,” Spock informed him. He looked over Kirk’s form. “Do you feel up to a game of chess?”

“Always.” He glanced around. “Do you have a magical invisible board with you?”

“Magical and invisible, no.” Spock leaned down and opened his briefcase. From within, he drew out a translucent rectangle with little squares on it, which he set flat on the edge of the bed. He touched the top with a finger. 

Two portions of the rectangle sprang upwards, floating in the air. A hologram flickered once and then solidified into chess pieces.

“Magnetic and holographic,” Kirk observed, impressed. He’d seen portable units before for other games and applications, but he always figured chess was too old fashioned. “Who won last time?”

“You did,” Spock reminded him. So Kirk took white. 

“How was your day?” he asked. 

“Better than yesterday,” Spock said, a tone of optimism in his voice. “We have both been offered promotions to admiralty. I believe you will receive your offer in written form.”

“And you told them no, right?” Kirk asked, shocked. “At least for me. God, I can’t imagine anything worse.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth kicked up. “Indeed, I said as much – for myself as well.”

“I guess that means they’ve finally stopped haranguing you?”

Spock looked up. “I do not believe I ever told you of the review board or their investigation.”

Kirk tapped the PADD again. 

“Ah. Yes, they have finished ‘haranguing’ me. In addition, they have offered Dr. Carol Marcus a commendation for her efforts to stop her father.”

“Good,” he replied firmly. “She deserves it more than anyone.”

He missed the quick glance Spock shot at him. When the sun set, Spock flicked on the overhead lamp without a word and they kept playing. The hours crept away from them.

After Spock won for the second time, he pressed the top plane of board and it went flat again, the pieces vanishing. “It is 2100,” he said. 

“Sending to me bed?” Kirk asked, a drowsy, teasing smile dancing over his mouth. 

“You are already in bed,” Spock corrected. “But yes, I am suggesting that you sleep now.”

Kirk covered a yawn and silently agreed with him. It was kind of disgusting how easily he got tired these days. Spock leaned down and stroked a hand over his hair to wrap around the back of his head. Raising his chin, he met Spock’s kiss in the middle. 

“Love you,” he whispered against the Vulcan’s lips. Spock kissed him again. 

“I love you,” he replied, his quiet voice sinking into Kirk’s chest. “Sleep, t’hy’la. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Spock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the last two chapters now. I'm taking a wintermester class *gag* which starts tomorrow. 
> 
> If anyone has any really good book/fanfic recommendations, I'd appreciate some. I try to stay away from mainstream teen stuff, though, so please don't give me Hunger Games or anything like that. I am of the opinion that everyone should always be respectful of other people's fandoms, so I won't hate. But I'm looking for a good distraction from school before I begin my next story for AO3.


	22. Kirk Goes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at them being all domestic and cute. Guess what happens in the next chapter? Hint hint. Bedroom.

Even though Khan’s blood had almost destroyed his body in the two weeks after being revived, in the end, it turned around and bolstered his return to strength with incredible efficiency. Twelve days after waking, he was allowed to walk without an escort, though both Bones and Spock watched over him with intense single-mindedness that bordered on manic fanaticism. 

When he declared that he intended to go out to the patient-oriented hospital park to enjoy some sunshine for the first time in forever, he saw Spock bring up a report on his PADD listing current temperature, humidity, wind-speed, pollution levels, and crime rates within a five block radius of the building. Grinning in spite of his exasperation, he had wasted no time in teasing a very resolute Spock the entire way to the park. 

Thank god Spock actually came around, though. McCoy and his team of super-nurses put Jim through what felt like torture every morning. Physical therapy, cellular scans, a strange form of electrical acupuncture used to stimulate neuro-pathways and reverse atrophy… it went on and on and on. Seeing Spock dressed in full uniform at the end of every day was the only thing that kept him sane. 

Finally, after a month, McCoy sent the Vulcan a complete set of outpatient orders –because he didn’t trust Kirk to take care of himself – and released Jim from the sterile prison. Spock had a meeting with the newly instated Admiralty – which Kirk was ‘still too weak’ to attend – and then they left for Spock’s hover car, leaving the vicinity of the hospital for the first time. 

“We are going to _my_ apartment, where I can take a _real_ shower, and sleep on _my_ couch,” Jim grouched when Spock suggested returning to a townhouse he kept near the Academy. He reached over and keyed his address into the dashboard interface. 

“It is my understanding that sleep is best undertaken in a bed,” Spock told him. 

“That’s because you’ve never enjoyed the glory of my living room furniture,” he said. And of course, that gave his imagination all it needed to run away with fun ideas of the dirty kind involving Spock. 

“Jim,” Spock muttered warningly. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He didn’t actually have to drive; all vehicles came with autopilot (but Kirk had discovered Spock’s rebellious side included a hidden love for driving – for all of his logic and rules, he was as much of an adrenalin junkie as Kirk was). The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed on the road. 

Kirk just smiled and leaned back. If Spock wanted to spend all of his time with his thoughts cuddled up right next to or entwined with his own, he’d just have to get used to the fact that he had bonded with a sex god. 

And besides, after months of torturing himself with illicit fantasies, it was incredibly refreshing to know at last that his thoughts weren’t abhorrent to his partner. The first time he’d sensed the whispers of lust coming from his bondmate, he had stared for two whole minutes, not sure if the feeling was actually coming from Spock or if McCoy had dosed his breakfast. 

Below the surface, Kirk was actually nervous. His relationship – as in, more-than-a-friend-or-colleague relationship – with Spock had thus far been defined by the four walls of his room at the hospital and their busy schedules, with Spock at meetings and Kirk complaining to the nurses about the food. 

What exactly were they supposed to be outside of that? It seemed pretty late to be asking that question, since they were kind of married now. But he had never actually been in a functioning relationship. The only thing he’d ever had responsibility for in the entirety of his life was a goldfish named Tara he’d won in a game of poker from a friend in middle school. 

Tara had lived a surprisingly long life until his brother thought it would be funny to see what happened if he put the fish bowl outside in the middle of an Iowan snowstorm. Kirk had never told anyone, but he actually spent a long time trying to thaw Tara out with a bunch of flashlights he’d confiscated from around the house. 

So what exactly did that say about him and Spock? That if the Vulcan ever got cold, he could warm up his bondmate with a flashlight? Yeah. That would work. Maybe he’d leave the metaphors to Bones. 

The car rolled slowly into the underground parking facility tucked beneath the modern building that housed his apartment. 

“What prompted you to choose a location so far from the campus?” Spock asked as he parked. Kirk shrugged. 

“Bones and I shared after the first year. It was in our budget and had free parking. What’s not to love?”

He slid out and winced as he unfolded his body from the seat. Spock was at his side in a second. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, leaning on the Vulcan while his muscles screamed in protest. 

“The fact that you are alive at all defies most odds,” Spock informed him, shouldering a backpack with Kirk’s belongings from the hospital. He moved his arm to brace around Kirk’s back and they began walking to the lift at the end of the garage. “Regaining strength and endurance will take time and patience.”

“Guess that rules sex out,” Kirk said as they stepped into the lift. It accelerated upwards. “Damn.”

Spock nailed him with a look. Jim grinned back unrepentantly. A year in space, a month in the hospital, and celibate the whole time. He was getting tired of the whole routine. For fuck’s sake, he was _bonded_ now and they hadn’t done more than exchange a few quiet Vulcan kisses behind Bone’s back. 

“Shower,” he moaned happily when the door to his apartment slid open a few minutes later. “Be back in a few. Me casa es su casa.”

…

 

Spock watched his mate teeter off down the hall to where a bedroom presumably was located. Sure that Kirk wasn’t going to collapse, he turned his attention to the apartment. A massive bookcase stood against a wall in the foyer. It wrapped around and extended into the living space. Hundreds of paper- and clothback books sat neatly in rows, pristinely kept. 

He followed the bookshelf into the den. A large display screen was mounted into wall, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. The kitchenette took up very little space. Except for a few sparse cabinets, a small table, and a replicator, there was not much to see there. 

A second bedroom-turned-study appeared when he rounded another corner. Between the doorway and the windows, a dozen holographic frames filled the space on the wall. 

Spock saw a blonde woman hugging her equally blonde sons close, smiles etched across all of their faces. He easily picked out Jim, whose skin was dusty as if he’d been rolling in the dirt. Another image flashed into its place, this one of Dr. McCoy and a little girl with dark hair asleep together in an armchair. 

There were other pictures, as well: images of groups of people drinking and laughing. When a photo of the George Kirk Shipyard in Iowa appeared, Spock immediately recognized the Enterprise braced up against heavy steel pylons in the late stages of completion. 

One frame at the top left flashed again, revealing a picture of Kirk, shirtless and smiling broadly, wrestling with Dr. McCoy at the beach. Spock’s breath stilled as he took in the lean, toned muscles of Jim’s chest and abdomen. 

He was stunning. Spock had known this for a while, but being hit with it anew stirred the warm appreciation all over again. Over the past weeks, it had not helped that Kirk – even tired and in pain – constantly teased with sexual innuendo. 

He would never push his mate; Kirk was too hurt now to even attempt deeper contact. But Spock was not immune. The teasing, the smiles, the flashes of skin, and playful hands stoked the fire that burned in his body to a level that had required intense focus every evening after visiting the hospital to calm. 

Thoughts of his bondmate stretched out on sheets, moaning and whispering sweetly – he shut down that thought as soon as he realized where it was headed and concentrated on willing the lust from his body. 

Sex was not what Jim needed now, no matter how much he alluded to it. He would restrain his urges for a few more weeks. After Jim had had enough time to heal… he breathed a silent, shuddering sigh, feeling the lick of fire in his blood. 

A few more weeks. Then his mate would be his. 

…

Jim emerged from the shower looking much better. In one hand he carried a PADD; in the other, a stack of clothing. 

“Try those on,” he instructed, dropping them on the back of the couch. Spock picked up a tattered pair of jeans and a black thermal undershirt. “Hate for you to wrinkle the uniform.”

Of course, he was just assuming that Spock intended to stick around for a bit. He knew his bondmate was busier than ever. But when the Vulcan moved past him and into the vacated bedroom to change, he grinned and went to make tea. 

When Spock returned, Jim stopped to glance up and down his body. It wasn’t a very Spock-like appearance, but they were Jim’s clothes and he could help but appreciate how they looked on the Vulcan. 

Spock caught him staring. “I have never worn denim before,” he commented. 

“It’s a little more casual than you usually go for,” Kirk agreed. “Mom got me those. They’re way too long on me.”

Spock paused for a second and then seemed to notice the tea. Kirk handed him a mug and they went to sit on the couch. His furniture was low and comfortable. Most nights, unless he had company, he opted to sleep in the living room instead of in his bed. Waking up to sunrise through the huge windows had been one of his favorite parts about living here. Now it just fell short of what he had found on the Enterprise. No matter how long he had avoided joining Starfleet to begin with, he knew now his life was destined to be spent in space. 

He looked at Spock. The warmth in his chest had never gone away since the moment when Spock said he loved him. It swirled contentedly in his core and permeated every cell in his body. 

Spock _loved_ him. _Spock_ loved _him_. Any way he repeated it to himself, it still blew him away. 

The Vulcan looked up from his PADD to find him staring. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, a concerned glimmer in his eye. 

“Hmm,” Kirk said absentmindedly. “I’m gonna grab a book. You want anything while I’m up?”

He stood. Spock dropped his PADD on the arm of the chair, put his tea on the ottoman, and followed suit. “I would rather fetch your book for you,” he said. “You require rest and limited physical activity.”

Kirk pinned him with an irritated look. “Spock. My bookshelf is around the corner; you saw it when you came in. I’m not going to overexert myself by walking ten steps to the shelf and ten steps back.”

“It is unnecessary since I am here.” The Vulcan began to move past him. 

“No,” Kirk snagged his wrist. “Stay. I mean it; don’t move.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and made a beeline for the shelf where he kept a signed edition of Peter and the Starcatchers. 

When he returned, the ancient book under one arm, Spock frowned at him and monitored every step he took until he was back on the sofa. 

“You know,” Kirk said, getting comfortable against the cushions, “much as I love having my very own Vulcan shadow, you might be going overboard.”

He held up his hands about two and a half feet apart. “Just a tiny bit. 

“I have a vested interest in your safety,” Spock argued. 

“I’m not going to go into cardiac arrest walking to or from the bookshelf, Spock.”

“After watching you die – and feeling the bond disintegrate – I believe my reasoning in keeping a vigilant watch over you during an uncertain and indeterminate period of recovery is sound.” Spock would not stand down. He pinned Kirk with a look that barred any argument. 

Jim dropped his head back against the couch and rubbed his forehead. “Spock,” he said, trying to be a little sensitive even though his nerves were getting frayed, “I’m a grown man. I make my own choices. If you’re going to try to run my life because you’re afraid I’ll hurt myself, then I’ll tell you now – you’re going to fail.”

He glanced up and saw Spock glaring at him. “Oh, come on!” he said. “I’m a starship captain. I jump headlong into trouble – you know I do. That’s how I operate! If you’re going to keep me in a padded box for the rest of my life…”

He looked back at his bondmate. “I can’t live like that. And neither can you. It’ll crush us.”

Wow, look at them having their first emotional fight. After a moment, Spock sat on the couch next to him. “Do you realize,” he said softly after a long, quiet minute, “that you are asking me to watch you risk your life again and again, knowing that I will not survive the pain of your loss a second time?”

It hit Kirk in the gut. He swallowed. “Yes.”

Spock flinched. Kirk went on. “Do you realize that you’re exactly the same as me? You’ll throw yourself into the fire to save other people. It would destroy you if we came across Nibiru again somewhere else and I forced you to let people die so that you could be safe.”

He watched the Vulcan think it over. The silence told him his words had hit home. And he could tell that Spock was distressed. 

“Can we make a compromise?” he offered. Spock looked at him. “We won’t clip each other’s wings. But we’ll both do everything in our power to be careful and stay safe.”

“I will agree to that,” his bondmate said at last. Kirk smiled. He reached out a hand and extended two fingers. Spock met him in a Vulcan kiss, gently sliding his hand down in a caress that made his soul feel complete. “Given that we have been approved for the five-year mission, may I also request that I may join you if you decide to be a part of the away team? Given your tendency to endanger yourself, I would feel—”

“Stop, stop, stop.” Kirk waved his hands. “We got the mission? Are you serious?”

“Did I neglect to mention the subject of the meeting this afternoon?” Light from the window lit his bondmate’s face, illuminating a shadow as his lips twitched upward the barest amount. Spock was teasing him. He loved it when Spock teased him. 

Smiling broadly, he threw himself backward to sprawl out on the couch, laughing. “We got it!” he cheered. “Yes!”

He looked up at Spock, who watched him with mild amusement. They would be just fine. He pushed up and scooted over, muscles still too sore to launch himself at the Vulcan like he wanted to. 

One of Spock’s arms caught him around the shoulders when he pressed close and kissed him. 

“I believe,” Spock said, pressing his forehead against Kirk’s, “that if you tried to be anything other than who you are, I would not recognize you.”

Jim smiled. “Back at’cha, babe.”

Spock pulled back and gave him a look. “I dislike that pet name,” Spock informed him.

“Mmm,” he said noncommittally, mind pleasantly humming from the feel of the Vulcan’s steady hand on his skin. He reached over and picked up his book, settling back into the curve of Spock’s body. Opening to the first chapter, he took Spock’s hand from where it rested on his neck and entangled their fingers absently. 

They sat together until the sun began to dip below the clouds, casting shadows into the apartment from the surrounding buildings. Spock left at some time close to midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said that I would post story proposals to my profile for you to choose from for my next big thing. But I was reading through them and I definitely have a favorite, so I'm just going to do that one. Sorry to exclude you all! This will be my first AU, which is a huge step for me. I was clicking through the K/S feed here on AO3 and I saw a lot of stories that follow along the same lines (prince AU, kid AU, gender bending, soulbonds, etc), so I'm going to try to do something totally different. 
> 
> … Robin Hood AU? *runs away*


	23. Dancing in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we finally get to the sex.

Two weeks later, Kirk and Spock sat in the office space of Kirk’s apartment, drowning in work. Khan’s blood had pushed into overdrive and now he was functioning at 137%, which was enough for Starfleet to pull his ass back on duty. McCoy and Spock had both protested vehemently, but the medical charts didn’t lie. 

Thankfully, Kirk’s headaches were gone. The super-blood seemed to be doing him a few extra favors in that court. Whatever work the Federation threw in his direction, his new energy levels ensured he could handle it all. Which was all great for him, but none of that kept McCoy from sending him reminders to take his medicines. Spock seemed pacified, at least. After spending almost every waking second in Kirk’s company, the Vulcan had finally been convinced of his perfect health. 

“Let’s go out,” Kirk said, putting down his PADD. Spock looked up at him over a document. 

“The Council has requested—”

“The Council doesn’t convene again until Tuesday. C’mon. Let’s go get some dinner.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The kitchen is fully equipped if you are hungry.”

Kirk raised an eyebrow right back. “The kitchen is not exactly my idea of a date.”

“A date?”

“Date. Noun. An engagement to go out socially with another person, often out of romantic interest.” Kirk leaned back in his chair and stretched.

“This is a time of crisis,” Spock reminded him seriously. “Activities of a social nature cannot have a purpose when more important matters are at stake.”

“They can when two people are in desperate need of a break,” Kirk told him. 

“I am in no such need.”

“Spock.” Kirk pushed forward in his chair. “I came by with breakfast this morning and you had your undershirt on inside out. I think you need a break.”

He shoved up from the seat and walked out of the room, breathing in what he already knew would be a wonderful evening. Spock, more slowly, followed him into the living room. 

“There’s this really great vegetarian place around the corner,” he said. “Wanna walk, get some fresh air? We can be back in two hours and get back to work.”

“I will… concede to your desire for a break.”

“Good.” Kirk flashed a grin at him. “Grab your coat. It might get cold.”

They set out down the sidewalk side by side. A slight breeze kicked up and pulled at their hair. Kirk lifted his face and enjoyed the last few rays of the dying sun on his skin. He didn’t know if it was the whole death thing, or freshly regenerated skin, or Khan’s enhanced blood, or what, but he just felt so _alive._

“You seem happy,” Spock commented in his usual, quiet way. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It seems awful, I know. It’s like cheering at a funeral.”

“No.” Spock squinted into the sunset as a glare of light peeked through a gap between buildings. “Finding gladness and peace in tragedy is a gift.”

It took them about twenty minutes to reach the restaurant. Finding the place originally had been an accident; two months after moving into the apartment, Kirk had been looking for a grocery store and found the Red Lotus instead. It was owned by an Asian couple who had decided his name was Jamie. It was an instant love affair. Until the mission started and dragged him off into a land of replicated food, he had come twice a week like clockwork. 

“Jamie!” Mrs. Li cheered when she saw him enter. She saw Spock and grabbed an extra set of tableware. “We keep seeing you in the news. Everyone is saying your name.”

“What else is new?” Spock shot him a look. He shrugged and slid into a booth. 

“That is what I told my husband. There are more important things to focus on.” Mrs. Li handed them menus. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Li. This is Spock, by the way,” he introduced. They ordered drinks and Mrs. Li left to attend someone else. 

“Admiral Archer pointed it out to me today that I’ve only been made captain by technicalities so far,” he said, relaxing back into the seat. 

“I do not understand.”

“Well, first I was made Acting Captain after being made First Officer after sneaking onto the Enterprise _after_ being on academic suspension for allegedly cheating. Next I was demoted and I only got my ship back to go on a manhunt that violated every rule in the book.”

“Admiral Archer believes these circumstances make your captaincy less valid?”

“I think he just likes for me to know he has me on a short leash.” Kirk smiled at Mrs. Li as she returned with their drinks. 

“The usual for Jamie and for his friend?” she turned expectantly to Spock. 

“His bondmate,” Spock corrected before placing his order. 

“Good, good. Keep him in line. He likes to tease me.”

She waked away, darting in to smack the back of a man’s hand for using his chopsticks incorrectly. “I think she’s part dragon,” Kirk commented. 

“It is entirely likely.”

“So in addition to a promotion, they offered me a position at the Academy.”

“Indeed?” Spock actually sounded surprised. “Would you consider teaching?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually thought about it before. What’s it like?”

Spock described his classes and lesson plans. He had graduated at the top of his class at the age of 21, followed by seven years of scientific research, teaching, and random short-term positions aboard Federation vessels. Even though he was only three years older, he had far more experience than Kirk. 

“I imagine accounts of your thought processes during missions in the last year would serve as a valuable tool for cadets in the Command track,” the Vulcan finished. Kirk smiled quietly, pleased. Spock wasn’t one to offer useless flattery – or flattery of any kind. 

Rain began to patter on the windows. The food came. They spoke softly as night fell. Kirk had promised they’d return within two hours so they could get back to work. But the two-hour mark came and passed and neither of them moved. He knew Spock was well aware of the time and the fact that the Vulcan sat there, completely relaxed and involved in the conversation just reminded him for the hundredth time that night why they were such good friends. 

Maybe this was why he’d never fallen in love with his previous bedmates before. Spock was his everything; his right hand, his First Officer, the person he played chess with. His brother. And they hadn’t even made out yet. 

A spike of lust shot through his head and he knew it wasn’t his. Or it wasn’t _only_ his. Kirk grinned sharply. “Something on your mind?”

“You,” Spock answered honestly. And wasn’t that the hottest thing ever? He flagged down Mrs. Li. They wasted no time paying and heading for the door. 

Rain poured down. Kirk held out his hand; it actually hurt hitting his hand. “Given the physics of acceleration and trajectory, running through rain is of no more benefit than walking through it, if general wetness is the undesirable outcome,” Spock told him, eyeing the puddles as if they would bite him. 

“And if time until we reach my bedroom is the desirable outcome?”

Dark brown eyes snapped to meet his. The bond burned. “Run.”

Kirk grinned and took off into the rain. The puddles splashed under his feet, sending water up around his knees and into his shoes. Within seconds, everything was absolutely soaked. He laughed, streams of water dripping from his eyelashes and chin. 

They came to Kirk’s building in record time, both wet and panting. Kirk keyed in, still grinning like an idiot. Spock practically herded him into the lift. Once the door hissed shut, the Vulcan had him up against the wall. 

“Damn, Spock,” Kirk had enough time to say. Then his lips were taken. The kiss was hard and fast. The doors slid open and they tumbled out. “Is this some kind of little known Vulcan secret? Add water, get horny?” 

“Open the door,” Spock ordered. Kirk turned and realized they were at his apartment. As soon as the door clicked open, Spock backed him through, kissing him again. 

Kirk’s clothes stuck to his skin, cold and wet, but Spock’s tongue painted a hot stripe down his neck. “Wait, let me, oh fuck it.”

He stumbled back and wiggled out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a sodden _slop_. Spock stripped out of his sweater in the least organized display Kirk had ever seen the Vulcan give. But he didn’t care. Suddenly, skin was available and it was all his. 

He launched forward and wrapped his arms around Spock’s shoulders. Spock’s fingers tangled tightly into his wet hair, pulling painfully. Their mouths clashed messily, a forceful push and shove of lips and teeth and tongues. When they came up for air and met again, it was more graceful, but no less obsessive. 

Spock’s hands tightened once and then let go, sliding down his naked shoulders, down his spine to rest on the back of his jeans. 

“Hmph,” Kirk mumbled against Spock’s mouth and pulled away. “Off.”

He unfastened his jeans and got them halfway over his hips before Spock grabbed him and half-carried, half-dragged him down the hall to his bedroom. Kirk barked a happy laugh and fell to the floor to pull off his shoes. Spock sat on the chest at the end of the bed and followed suit, eyes following his every movement. 

“You’re the last person I expected to go caveman,” Kirk said, looking up at him as he tugged of a soggy sock. “What’s up with that?”

Spock watched him very seriously. “We have been bonded for two months, one week, and one day without more than the most basic physical contact. Do you expect me to maintain composure any longer than absolutely necessary?”

“Nope. I think we’re good.”

“I agree. Remove your pants.”

Kirk smirked. He had a bossy Vulcan; how awesome was that?

He rocked back and planted his feet on the floor, lifting his hips to pull off his pants. Soaking wet, his underwear came off too. Bare-assed, he sat on the floor and watched Spock undress. The Vulcan froze. 

“Never seen a human’s dick before?”

Not yours. 

The words came as a somewhat stunned whisper in his head. If they weren’t attached to his now-hungry-looking bondmate, he’d have been insulted. His smirk turned shameless and he crawled the two steps to the chest. 

Spock had taken off his shirt in the hallway. His chest was covered in a dark, thick mat of hair. He couldn’t contain himself; bracing his hands on either side of Spock’s knees, he leaned up and rubbed into him like a cat. His nose ended up along the Vulcan’s jaw. Spock’s chin inched up, inviting more. 

He brought his hands up to Spock’s shoulders. The Vulcan’s skin was cool and damp from the rain. The muscles there were strong and firm. He flexed his hands, loving the feel. Spock turned his head impatiently and Kirk felt the edge of the Vulcan’s teeth on his cheekbone. 

“Bed,” Kirk gasped. Fire licked down his naked back. Suddenly he became aware that while he had no clothes on, Spock still wore his pants. There was something severely wrong with that. As soon as he stood to let the Vulcan up from the chest, he pushed him right back down. 

“Nevermind. Pants.”

Spock pushed him away and stood again, stripping with starling efficiency. Kirk stared, first blown away by the resourcefulness, then struck by the sight of a nude Spock. 

“Damn. I pick well.”

An eyebrow went up as a slight green tint flushed Spock’s skin. And if that wasn’t the cutest thing… 

“Okay. Bed.” And Kirk tackled him. 

…

Spock had always known Jim to be a rather tactile human. But as they tumbled into bed in a heap of arms and legs, he wondered if he had bonded with a piece of Velcro and not a man. 

But that question was rendered immediately moot as his hands met the dense, hard muscles of Jim’s abdomen and he felt the callouses of Jim’s fingers trace his ears. An involuntary shudder wracked his body. 

A male laugh sounded lowly from the chest pressed intimately against his own. Through the skin touching his everywhere – and through the bond – he felt Jim’s thoughts race with his. 

Lovethislovehimyoursyoursyoursfinally

Fingers shot into his hair and pulled his head back. Lips found his own; his mouth opened invitingly and Jim’s tongue pressed in. 

They kissed and tangled as closely together as they could. Spock wrapped his arms around Jim’s back, feeling the slightest flex and pull of muscles. Their hips clashed together, caging their cocks in between. Spock couldn’t help arching his body up, a line of fire shooting down his penis at the contact with Jim’s skin. 

Of course, Jim – shamelessly – pushed even further. As they kissed, he wrapped a leg up around the back of Spock’s thigh and curved forward, causing sweet friction. Grinning unrepentantly against Spock’s lips, he rolled them until he was on top and wiggled – Spock groaned – until the Vulcan dropped his arms. 

Jim sat up and looked down. Spock was struck at once how proportionate his body was. His torso flowed into his hips so –

Jim took hold of his penis and all thoughts ended. 

…

Spock’s eyes closed and his neck arched back. God, that Vulcan was beautiful. He’d always known sex with him would be great. But this great?

Spock’s dick was smooth. It felt amazing. It was longer than his own by maybe an inch, but they were both pretty well-sized. Considering that he’d be taking it in his ass in a few minutes he was actually really happy some of the Academy rumors he’d heard about monster Vulcan cocks were false. Spock was perfect. 

He tightened his grip and Spock’s whole body constricted. Kirk moved off to go between his legs; Spock’s feet planted on either side of him, thigh muscles clenching with every stroke. 

“Can’t believe I haven’t asked this yet,” he said, leaning down over Spock’s parted legs. The flushed olive cock curved up towards the Vulcan’s stomach. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

Kirk paused and looked up. Spock was watching him through darkly hooded eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s first before,” he said. But for some reason, he didn’t feel nervous. And he didn’t think Spock was nervous either. Huh. “Anything I need to know?”

Spock reached down and petted his hair, unable to keep his hands to himself. When he tugged down, Kirk grinned. His Vulcan was innocent, but not really innocent, it seemed. 

“Vulcan males produce –ah!” Spock stopped on a gasp as Kirk licked a stripe up his cock. His own dick was harder than steel. The expression on the Vulcan’s face made him feel like a god.

“You were saying?” Kirk teased, his mouth moving against the head of Spock’s cock. The grip on his hair strengthened punishingly. 

Spock swallowed, fighting for control. “Vulcan males produce a substance that acts as a lubricant after sufficient stimulation.”

Kirk, who what been mouthing Spock’s shaft, pulled back. “You self-lubricate?”

“I believe that is what I just said.”

Kirk looked down at the cock he’d been licking. It was wet with saliva. “How much stimulation, exactly?”

“As this is my first experience, I am not entirely familiar—”

“Stop.” Kirk shushed him. He eyed the cock with a grin. A challenge. He gripped the base and angled it upwards before easing his mouth down. Spock fell backwards, his hands sliding down Kirk’s face. 

Kirk gave it his all. Sure, sucking dick was kinda fun. It felt interesting against his lips and tongue. In the past, he’d always liked getting head more than giving it. But something about the bond… he _loved_ doing this for Spock. There was a strange loop of feedback going between his body and Spock’s. He felt everything – he knew how much Spock loved the sensation of his mouth. 

After about a minute, a weird, almost liquidy-sticky kind of stuff started to coat his tongue. It didn’t have a taste. Damn, it was cool. He pulled back and licked his lips. The sticky stuff was still there; he dragged his forearm over his mouth. 

Spock stroked a hand down his shoulder, then back up to his neck and his jaw. He pulled. Kirk crawled up and Spock dragged him into a hard kiss. The Vulcan flipped them. 

“It’ll be easier if I’m on my knees,” Kirk told him. The bond burned hot. Spock leaned back and let him up, watching him with dark eyes. When Kirk positioned himself onto his hands and knees and then slowly leaned forward on his elbows, he felt every one of Spock’s heartbeats as if they were his own. 

The Vulcan’s hands went to his back, pushing him down further. One hand dragged down his spine, between his cheeks, over his ass, and down. It was the first time Spock had touched him. 

Kirk’s eyes closed. He shifted his knees wider apart, asking for more. Spock didn’t need further invitation. His hands kneaded over the muscles of Kirk’s thighs and hips, pressing into his skin. 

When Spock’s fingers traced over his hole, every nerve ending sang. His touch went lower, massaging his balls and then lower, stroking his cock. Over and over. Down and up and down and up again. Kirk let his head fall forward onto his arms, arching his back into the ministrations. 

“Spock,” he moaned softly. “Please.”

It seemed to pull the Vulcan from his haze. When his fingers returned, they were coated with something slippery. Spock’s self-lubrication, his sex-addled mind told him happily. He spread his knees further. 

Spock pushed a finger in, followed by a second after a moment. Through the bond, Kirk felt the mad touch sensations the Vulcan was receiving through the action and clenched down with a wicked smile. In retribution, Spock inserted a third finger far sooner than Kirk was ready for. 

He fell forward with a choked gasp. “Warn a guy, Spock. Fuck.”

…

The feeling was incredible. He had not known that preparing his mate for intercourse would be so extraordinary. He looked down at Jim. 

His head had fallen forward onto his arms, braced against the sheets. The muscles in his back were flexed hard; his hips were canted back towards him. Spock worked his fingers in and out, feeling the exquisite tightness with every fiber of his being. 

“Are you ready?” he asked lowly. 

“Yeah,” Jim panted into his arm. Spock removed his fingers and lined himself up. In one breath, he pushed in. 

Both of them groaned. Spock moved his hands down his mate’s back, petting while he got used to the sensation. Jim suddenly laughed, a breathy, choked sound. “I just remembered Bones said he would castrate me if I ever forgot protection.”

Spock grabbed Jim’s hips and yanked back, seating himself all the way. Jim grunted. “I do not care about Dr. McCoy at this point, James.”

“Shutting up.”

I highly doubt that. He pulled out a little and began to build up a rhythm. Jim pushed back and urged him to speed up. He complied. Through the bond, he felt Jim bite his lip. Pleasure seared through him. 

Rearranging his knees around Jim’s, he leaned over his bondmate’s back and took his hands, pressing out along his entire body. Jim arched his neck to place sloppy kisses on his throat. 

Mmm, good angle, Jim mumbled through the bond. He rolled his hips and –

“There!” Spock knew the instant he hit Jim’s prostate. Orgasm was not far away for either of them. Pinning Jim’s hands to the mattress, he picked up the pace. 

“Yes. Close. Spock,” his mate muttered. At the last second, Spock pulled out and Jim rolled over, reaching for him immediately. 

They kissed heavily. Jim took both of their erections in his hands and was stroking them together. They watched, captivated, their breaths mingling in the close air. Spock shoved his hand into Jim’s hair and kissed him, tasting the inside of his mouth, as he came. 

Ecstasy. Jim threw his head back. Spock turned to watch, his check pressed against his mate’s shoulder as spats of white joined the pool already waiting on his stomach. 

“You know,” Jim panted, looking down at their softening cocks. “I kind of expected yours to be green. Is that terrible?”

“Yes.”

Chuckling, Jim pulled a pillow from the other side of the bed and dropped it on Spock’s head. When Spock came out from underneath it, Jim was halfway across the room, headed for the shower. 

“You coming?”

They showered together. Warm, tired, and happy, they fell into bed. Jim started to fall asleep almost at once. 

“I love your ears,” Jim told him sleepily, tracing a finger over the tip of one. Spock captured the hand and tucked it under the covers.

“Go to sleep, Ashayam.”

“You really need to tell me what that means,” Jim said.

Spock turned his head to look at Jim, who nuzzled into a pillow contentedly. Human tales of soulmates – and even ancient Vulcan poetry of t’hy’a – painted intercourse between bonded members of a pair as pure rapture. Something to be awed and revered; to be taken seriously and treated as if it were the finest crystal. 

And while his connection with Jim was powerful beyond words, he was not surprised that sex with his captain was akin to playing. Jim romped; as McCoy often said, he was a puppy. And Spock was glad. He did not want a bond made of glass. In order to weather their stubbornness, their confidence, and their tempers, it needed to be strong. 

As he was learning… he blinked his eyes open again and looked at Jim and smiled… he enjoyed playing with his mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex is just an activity. It's fun, it relieves stress, it's comforting. In so many romance novels, you see sex used as the ultimate declaration of love, which kills me. If two people love each other, then they demonstrate that in so many other ways, not just by falling into bed with each other. So I very deliberately made sex less poetic and more playful than you might see in some romance movies or novels. I hope it does justice to their relationship as I've painted it through this story. 
> 
> We have one more chapter after this. Happy reading!


	24. New Vulcan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The official bonding ceremony, because I'm feeling sentimental.

Looking at Old Spock was a whole different experience now. Of course, Kirk knew he wasn’t the same as his Spock, but on the outside… in a hundred years or so, this is what Spock would look like. Without him. 

He wouldn’t allow that thought to crush him. Not today. They hadn’t come all the way to Vafer-tor just for him to get teary-eyed over his eventual demise. They were getting married today. 

Well. Technically. 

They had been bonded for four months, three days, and so many hours already, but Sarek had invited them to be the first officially bonded members of the Clan of Surak since the New Vulcan colony began. And they’d accepted. 

“So you never did tell me,” Kirk said to Ambassador Spock, who was accompanying him to the circle where the ceremony would proceed, “if you and the other Kirk bonded.”

“We did,” Spock told him. “But we were both incredibly stubborn and it did not happen until well into his years as an admiral. While I do not regret any of our time together, I will admit, there are days I wish I could have redone, to have been by his side instead of off studying some planet.”

“Something tells me we were the lucky ones,” Kirk said quietly. 

“Indeed,” Spock replied. “Very lucky. And I wish you the greatest happiness, my friend.”

They had reached the circle. Twenty or so people stood around. His Spock came forward from where he had been with his father. Kirk smiled at the old ambassador and met his bondmate halfway. 

Spock wore traditional robes. While the elders looked a bit like hunched gargoyles, Spock managed to look tall and somewhat imposing – totally hot. Thankfully, they had allowed Kirk to wear his official uniform for the occasion. The robes probably would have made him look like a penguin. 

“So, when do we start?” he asked Spock. 

“Right now,” answered Sarek, who came up on his right. 

T’Pau moved around to the center and raised her arms. Everyone silenced. The few people who had been out of place stepped back, leaving Sarek, Spock, and Jim in the middle with T’Pau. 

“Na'shayalar na'kanok-veh la. Etek hoknau fi'nash-mazhiv na'telan t'Spock eh t'James.”

They were doing this whole thing in traditional Golic. Sarek and Spock had both coached him through the language before coming to the circle, so he could follow the gist of it. Basically, so far, ‘Hello, we are here for the bonding of Spock and Jim.’

“Kal-tor palikau.”

‘Let’s get started.’ That one was pretty easy. 

“Spock - sa-fu t'Sarek heh t'Amanda - nam-tor du na'telan?”

‘Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda, are you ready to sell your soul?’ Spock shot him a dark look before replying. “Nash-veh nam-tor.”

He hid a smile. T’Pau asked him the same question. “Nash-veh nam-tor,” he told her. A spark of pleasure lit through the bond. I told you I wouldn’t butcher the accent. So little faith in me. 

Pay attention. 

Yes, dear. 

T’Pau beckoned them forward. She had them kneel before her. Technically, the kneeling part wasn’t supposed to come until later, but Spock was too tall for her to reach. She placed a hand on each of their faces. 

A strange, alien touch hovered just outside of their bond. She didn’t touch it; she just observed. Kirk held his breath. He knew her presence was entirely symbolic, but for some reason the idea of someone else in their space seemed like a complete violation. 

He felt a similar reaction from Spock, but when his bondmate sent a soothing wave through the bond, he settled down. T’Pau was an Elder; she knew what she was doing. 

“Kashkau… wuhkuh eh teretuhr… Estuhn wi ri estuhn… k'wuhli wi ri k'wuhli…”

He and Spock echoed her. This was the part he liked most. For all of the vows of eternal love in human marriages, they were all just a bunch of legal nonsense. But this… _touching, yet not touching; apart, yet never parted…_ that actually meant something. For a non-emotional people, the Vulcans managed to come up with something most romantic poets would sell their souls for. 

At the end, as she removed her hands, they finished together, “Nam-tor etek wuhkuh.”

‘We are one.’

“Ki'navau telan,” she told the crowd. “Dungi-fun-tor na'nash-shi na'kun-ut kali-fi.”

Kirk missed most of that, except for ‘you will meet at the appointed place.’

“Dif-tor heh smusma.”

‘Live long and prosper.’

And that was it. They stood from the sand. Spock offered the ta’al to T’Pau and Kirk copied him. 

“I know you explained the whole thing to me earlier,” he said as the elder moved away, “but that went way faster that I thought it would.”

“Vulcans believe in efficiency. You should not be surprised.”

“Nope. Guess not.”

Sarek came towards them. “Time immediately following the bonding ceremony is customarily set aside for consummation of the bond,” he told them. “However, since your bond has been established for the past four months and is in no such need, perhaps you would prefer to return to my home for a midday meal.”

Spock inclined his head politely and Sarek moved away. Kirk pivoted towards his mate. “Did your father just offer food over sex?”

“Yes. It would be rude to decline.” Spock turned and began walking back towards the colony. 

“You so owe me.”

“Do not keep score, t’hy’la,” Spock told him. “You will lose.”

“Hey, we just got married. Doesn’t threatening your bondmate classify as spousal abuse?” 

“I did not threaten you, I stated a fact.”

Kirk took Spock’s hand and smiled when the Vulcan didn’t shake him off, even though hand-holding was fairly scandalous here. 

The sun beat down on their heads. It had been early morning just a few minutes ago. The heat index of Vafer-tor was one of the things that made it feel almost like home to the displaced Vulcans. Of course, to humans, it just felt like hell. But he didn’t have to live in the colony, so he didn’t complain. 

When Sarek’s home was in sight, Kirk started thinking about something else. “Did you ever think you would be bonded?”

“I was bonded at the age of seven to a girl named T’Pring,” Spock answered. Kirk looked at him. “If you mean to say, did I ever believe I would be bonded out of choice, the answer is no. I never even thought to allow myself that hope. The odds of finding a t’hy’la are so astronomically small, it is beyond reason. But I have been fortunate.”

“Yeah. I never thought I’d find someone either.” He paused for a second. “Now stop for a second. You were bonded when you were seven? When were you going to tell me that?”

Fin. 

:D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, it's finished! The beast is done!
> 
> Thank you THANK YOU to everyone who stuck with me. It seems hard to believe, but I do read your comments and if you've left more than one comment, I recognize you. Out here in the real world, I do school work and that's pretty much it. I don't have friends, so you guys are it for me. This is my outlet and I really, really appreciate your responses. You guys are so sweet and you're helping me become a better writer. 
> 
> Keep your eyes peeled for the AU I'm posting soon!
> 
> D


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